HARPERS ^ 
•  LITTLE^ 

'NOVELS'^ 


GIFT  OF 

THOMAS  RUTHERFORD  BACON 
MEMORIAL  LIBRARY 


A 


/ 


AFTERMATH 

PART  SECOND   OF 

KENTUCKY    CARDINAL" 


JAMES   LANE   ALLEN 


AUTHOR   OF 


THE    BLUE-GRASS    REGION    OF    KENTUCKY  ': 
"  FLUTE   AND   VIOLIN  "    ETC. 


NEW     YOKK 

HARPER  &   BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 
1896 


HARPER'S   LITTLE   NOVELS. 


PREVIOUS  ISSUES: 

'CENSION.     By  MAUDE  MASON  AUSTIN.     Illustrated. 

THE  JUDGMENT  BOOKS.     By  E.  F.  BENSON.     Illustrated. 

THE  ROYAL  MARINE.  By  BKANDER  MATTHEWS.  Illustrated 
by  W.  T.  SMEDLEY. 

A  KENTUCKY  CARDINAL.  By  JAMES  LANE  ALLEN.  Illus 
trated  by  ALBERT  E.  STERNER. 

AN  AGITATOR.     By  CLEMENTINA  BLACK. 

ST.  JOHN'S  WOOING.     By  M.  G.  MCCLELLAND.     Illustrated. 

MINISTERS  OF  GRACE.  By  EVA  WILDER  MCGLASSON.  Illus 
trated  by  CLIFFORD  CARLETON. 

32wio,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  00  each. 
PUBLISHED    BY   HARPER   &    BROTHERS,   NEW   YORK. 


Copyright,  1895,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

All  rights  reserved. 


2>eMcatfon 

This  to  her  from  one  who  in  childhood  used  to  stand 
at  the  windows  of  her  room  and  watch  for  the  Cardinal 
among  the  snow-buried  cedars. 


267952 


AFTERMATH 


PART    SECOND    OF    "A    KENTUCKY    CARDINAL' 


WAS  happily  at  work  this  morning  among 
my  butterbeans  —  a  vegetable  of  solid 
merit  and  of  a  far  greater  suitableness  to  my 
palate  than  such  bovine  watery  growths  as  the 
squash  and  the  beet.  Georgiana  came  to  her 
garden  window  and  stood  watching  me. 

"  You  work  those  butterbeans  as  though  you 
loved  them"  she  said,  scornfully. 
"  I  do  love  them.     I  love  all  vines." 
"  Are  you  cultivating  them  as  vines  or  as  vege 
tables  ?" 


"  It  makes  no  difference  to  nature." 

"  Do  you  expect  me  to  be  a  vine  when  we  are 
married  ?" 

"  I  hope  you'll  not  turn  out  a  mere  vegetable. 
How  should  you  like  to  be  my  Virginia-creeper  ?" 

"And  what  would  you  be?" 

"Well,  what  would  you  like?  A  sort  of 
honeysuckle  frame  ?" 

"Oh,  anything!  Only  support  me  and  give 
me  plenty  of  room  to  bloom." 

I  do  not  always  reply  to  Georgiana,  though 
I  always  could  if  I  chose.  Whenever  I  remain 
silent  about  anything  she  changes  the  subject. 

"  Did  you  know  that  Sylvia  once  wrote  a  poem 
on  a  vegetable  ?" 

"  I  did  not." 

"  You  don't  speak  as  though  you  cared." 

"You  must  know  how  deeply  interested  I 
am." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  ask  to  see  the  poem  ?" 

"  Was  it  on  butterbeans  ?" 


"  The  idea  !     Sylvia  has  better  taste." 

"  I  suppose  I'd  better  look  into  this  poem." 

"  You  are  not  to  laugh  at  it !" 

"  I  shall  weep." 

"  Xo  ;  you  are  not  to  weep.     Promise." 

"  What  am  I  to  promise  ?" 

"  That  you  will  read  it  unmoved." 

"I  do  promise — solemnly,  cheerfully." 

"  Then  come  and  get  it." 

I  went  over  and  stood  under  the  window. 
Georgiana  soon  returned  and  dropped  down  to 
me  a  piece  of  writing-paper. 

"  Sylvia  wrote  it  before  she  began  to  think 
about  the  boys." 

"  It  must  be  a  very  early  poem." 

"  It  is ;  and  this  is  the  only  copy ;  please 
don't  lose  it." 

"  Then  I  think  you  ought  to  take  it  back  at 
once.  Let  me  beg  of  you  not  to  risk  it — " 
But  she  was  gone ;  and  I  turned  to  my  arbor 
and  sat  down  to  read  Sylvia's  poem,  which  I 


found  to  be  inscribed  to  "  The  Potato,"  and  to 
run  as  follows : 

"  What  on  this  wide  earth 

That  is  made  or  does  by  nature  grow 
Is  more  homely  yet  more  beautiful 
Than  the  useful  Potato? 

"What  would  this  world  full  of  people  do, 

Rich  and  poor,  high  and  low, 
Were  it  not  for  this  little-thought-of 
But  very  necessary.  Potato  ? 

"  True,  'tis  homely  to  look  on, 

Nothing  pretty  even  in  its  blow, 
But  it  will  bear  acquaintance, 
This  useful  Potato. 

"  For  when  it  is  cooked  and  opened 

It's  so  white  and  mellow, 
You  forget  it  ever  was  homely, 
This  useful  Potato. 

"  On  the  whole  it  is  a  very  plain  plant, 
Makes  no  conspicuous  show, 


But  the  internal  appearance  is  lovely 
Of  the  unostentatious  Potato. 

"  On  the  land  or  on  the  sea, 

Wherever  we  may  go, 
We  are  always  glad  to  welcome 
The  sound  Potato."* 

In  the  afternoon  I  was  cutting  stakes  at  the 
wood-pile  for  my  butterbeans,  and  a  bright  idea 
struck  me.  During  my  engagement  to  Georgi- 
ana  I  cannot  always  be  darting  in  and  out  of 
Mrs.  Cobb's  front  door  like  a  swallow  through 
a  barn.  Neither  can  I  talk  freely  to  Georgiana 
— with  her  up  at  the  window  and  me  down  on 
the  ground — when  I  wish  to  breathe  into  her 

*  The  elder  Miss  Cobb  was  wrong  in  thinking  this 
poem  Sylvia's.  It  was  extant  at  the  time  over  the  signa 
ture  of  another  writer,  whose  authorship  is  not  known  to 
have  been  questioned.  Miss  Sylvia  perhaps  copied  it  out 
of  admiration,  or  as  a  model  for  her  own  use. 

J.  L.  A. 


ear  the  things  that  I  must  utter  or  die.  Besides, 
the  sewing-girl  whom  Georgiana  has  engaged  is 
nearly  always  there.  So  that  as  I  was  in  the 
act  of  trimming  a  long  slender  stick,  it  occurred 
to  me  that  I  might  make  use  of  this  to  elevate 
any  little  notes  that  I  might  wish  to  write  over 
the  garden  fence  up  to  Georgiana's  window. 

I  was  greatly  taken  with  the  thought,  and, 
dropping  my  hand-axe,  hurried  into  the  house 
and  wrote  a  note  to  her  at  once,  which  I  there 
upon  tied  to  the  end  of  the  pole  by  a  short 
string.  But  as  I  started  for  the  garden  this  ar 
rangement  looked  too  much  like  catching  Georgi 
ana  with  a  bait.  Therefore,  happening  to  remem 
ber,  I  stopped  at  my  tool-house,  where  I  keep  a 
little  of  everything,  and  took  from  a  peg  a  fine 
old  specimen  of  a  goldfinch's  nest.  This  I  fast 
ened  to  the  end  of  the  pole,  and  hiding  my  note 
in  it,  now  felt  better  satisfied.  No  one  but  Geor 
giana  herself  would  ever  be  able  to  tell  what  it 
was  that  I  might  wish  to  lift  up  to  her  at  any 


time ;  and  in  case  of  its  being  not  a  note,  but  a 
plum — a  berry — a  peach — it  would  be  as  safe  as 
it  was  unseen.  This  old  house  of  a  pair  of  gold 
finches  would  thus  become  the  home  of  our 
fledgling  hopes :  every  day  a  new  brood  of 
vows  would  take  flight  across  its  rim  into  our 
bosoms. 

Watching  my  chance  during  the  afternoon, 
when  the  sewing -girl  was  not  there,  I  rushed 
over  and  pushed  the  stick  up  to  the  window. 

"  Georgiana,"  I  called  out,  "  feel  in  the  nest !" 

She  hurried  to  the  window  with  her  sewing  in 
her  arms.  The  nest  swayed  to  and  fro  on  a 
level  with  her  nose. 

"What  is  it?"  she  cried,  drawing  back  with 
extreme  distaste. 

"  You  feel  in  it !"  I  repeated. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  feel  in  it,"  she  said.  "  Take 
it  away !" 

"  There's  a  young  dove  in  it,"  I  persisted— 
"  a  young  cooer." 


"  I  don't  wish  any  young  cooers,"  she  said, 
with  a  grimace. 

Seeing  that  she  was  not  of  my  mind,  I  added, 
pleadingly  :  "  It's  a  note  from  me,  Georgiana  ! 
This  is  going  to  be  our  little  private  post-office  !" 
Georgiana  sank  back  into  her  chair.  She  reap 
peared  with  the  flush  of  apple-blossoms  and  her 
lashes  wet  with  tears  of  laughter.  But  I  do  not 
think  that  she  looked  at  me  unkindly.  "  Our 
little  private  post-office,"  I  persisted,  confidingly. 

"  How  many  more  little  private  things  are  we 
going  to  have  ?"  she  inquired,  plaintively. 

"  I  can't  wait  here  forever,"  I  said.  "  This  is 
growing  weather ;  I  might  sprout." 

"A  dry  stick  will  not,"  said  Georgiana,  simply, 
and  went  back  to  her  sewing. 

I  took  the  hint,  and  propped  the  pole  against 
the  house  under  the  window.  Later,  when  I  took 
it  down,  my  note  was  gone. 

I  have  set  the  pole  under  Georgiana's  window 
several  times  within  the  last  two  or  three  days. 


It  looks  like  a  little  dip-net,  high  and  dry  in  the 
air ;  but  so  far  as  I  can  see  with  my  unaided  eye, 
it  has  caught  nothing  so  large  as  a  gnat.  It  has 
attracted  no  end  of  attention  from  the  birds  of 
the  neighborhood,  however,  who  never  saw  a 
goldfinch's  nest  swung  to  the  end  of  a  leafless 
pole  and  placed  where  it  could  be  so  exactly 
reached  by  the  human  hand.  In  particular  it 
has  fallen  under  the  notice  of  a  pair  of  wrens, 
which  are  like  women,  in  that  they  usually  have 
some  secret  business  behind  their  curiosity. 
The  business  in  this  case  is  the  matter  of  their 
own  nest,  which  they  have  located  in  a  broken 
horse-collar  in  my  saddle-house.  At  such  sea 
sons  they  are  alert  for  appropriating  building 
materials  that  may  have  been  fetched  to  hand  by 
other  birds ;  and  they  have  already  abstracted 
a  piece  of  candle-wick  from  the  bottom  of  my 
post-office. 

Georgiana  has  been  chilly  towards  me  for  two 
days,  and  I  think  is  doing  her  best  not  to  freeze 


10 

up  altogether.  I  have  racked  my  brain  to  know 
why ;  but  I  fear  that  my  brain  is  not  of  the  sort 
to  discover  what  is  the  matter  with  a  woman 
when  nothing  really  is  the  matter.  Moreover, 
as  I  am  now  engaged  to  Georgiana,  I  have 
thought  it  better  that  she  should  begin  to  bring 
her  explanations  to  me — the  steady  sun  that  will 
melt  all  her  uncertain  icicles. 

At  last  this  morning  she  remarked,  but  very 
carelessly,  "  You  didn't  answer  my  note." 

"What  note,  Georgiana?'7  I  asked,  thunder 
struck. 

She  gave  me  such  a  look. 

"  Didn't  you  get  the  note  I  put  into  that — 
into  that — "  Her  face  grew  pink  with  vexation 
and  disgust. 

"  Did  you  put  a  note  into  the — into  the — " 
I  could  not  have  spoken  the  word  just  then. 

I  retired  to  my  arbor,  where  I  sat  for  half  an 
hour  with  my  head  in  my  hands.  What  could 
have  become  of  Georgiana's  note  ?  A  hand 


11 


might  have  filched  it ;  unlikely.  A  gust  of  wind 
have  whisked  it  out ;  impossible.  I  debated 
and  rejected  every  hypothesis  to  the, last  one. 
Acting  upon  this,  I  walked  straight  to  the 
saddle-house,  and  in  a  dark  corner  peered  at 
the  nest  of  the  wrens.  A  speck  of  white  paper 
was  visible  among  the  sticks  and  shavings.  I 
tore  the  nest  out  and  shook  it  to  pieces.  How 
those  wrens  did  rage  !  The  note  was  so  torn 
and  mudded  that  I  could  not  read  it.  But  sup 
pose  a  jay  had  carried  it  to  the  high  crotch  of 
some  locust !  I  ran  joyfully  back  to  the  window. 

"  I've  found  it,  Georgiana  !"  I  called  out. 

She  appeared,  looking  relieved,  but  not  ex 
actly  forgiving. 

"  Where «" 

My  tongue  froze  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth. 

"  Where  did  you  find  it  ?"  she  repeated,  im 
periously. 

"What  do  you  want  to  know  for?"  I  said, 
savagely. 


12 


"  Let  me  see  it !"  she  demanded. 

My  clasp  on  it  suddenly  tightened. 

"  Let  me  see  it !"  she  repeated,  with  genuine 
fire. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  see  it  for  ?"  I  said. 

She  turned  away. 

"  Here  it  is,"  I  said,  and  held  it  up. 

She  looked  at  it  a  long  time,  andr  her  brows 
arched. 

"  Did  the  pigs  get  it?" 

"  The  wrens.  It  was  merely  a  change  of 
post-office." 

"  I'd  as  well  write  the  next  one  to  them,"  she 
said,  "  since  they  get  the  letters." 

Georgiana  was  well  aware  that  she  slipped  the 
note  into  the  nest  when  they  were  looking  and 
I  was  not ;  but  women — all  women — now  and 
then  hold  a  man  responsible  for  what  they  have 
done  themselves.  Sylvia,  for  instance.  She 
grew  peevish  with  me  the  other  day  because  my 
garden  failed  to  furnish  the  particular  flowers 


13 


that  would  have  assuaged  her  whim.  And  yet 
for  days  Sylvia  has  been  helping  herself  with 
such  lack  of  stint  that  the  poor  clipped  and 
mangled  bushes  look  at  me  as  I  pass  sympa 
thetically  by  them,  and  say,  "  If  you  don't  keep 
her  away,  we'd  as  well  be  weeds !" 

The  truth  is  that  Sylvia's  rampant  session  in 
school,  involving  the  passage  of  the  Greatest 
Common  Divisor — far  more  dreadful  than  the 
passage  of  the  Beresina — her  blue  rosettes  at 
the  recent  Commencement,  and  the  prospect  of 
a  long  vacation,  together  with  further  miscellany 
appertaining  to  her  age  and  sex,  have  strung  the 
chords  of  her  sentimental  being  up  to  the  high 
est  pitch.  Feeling  herself  to  be  naturally  a  good 
instrument  and  now  perfectly  in  tune,  Sylvia  re 
quires  that  she  shall  be  continually  played  upon 
— if  not  by  one  person,  then  by  another.  Nature 
overloads  a  tendency  in  order  to  make  it  carry 
straight  along  its  course  against  the  interference 
of  other  tendencies ;  and  she  will  sometimes  pro- 


14 


vide  a  girl  with  a  great  many  young  men  at  the 
start,  in  order  that  she  may  be  sure  of  one  hus 
band  in  the  end.  The  precautionary  swarm  in 
Sylvia's  case  seems  multitudinous  enough  to 
supply  her  with  successive  husbands  to  the  end 
of  her  days  and  in  the  teeth  of  all  known  esti 
mates  of  mortality.  How  unlike  Georgiana  ! 

I  think  of  Georgiana  as  the  single  peach  on  a 
tree  in  a  season  when  they  are  rarest.  Not  a 
very  large  peach,  and  scarcely  yet  yielding  a 
blush  to  the  sun,  although  its  long  summer  heat 
is  on  the  wane ;  growing  high  in  the  air  at  the 
end  of  a  bough  and  clustered  about  by  its 
shining  leaves.  But  what  beauty,  purity,  fresh 
ness  !  You  must  hunt  to  find  it  and  climb  to 
reach  it ;  but  when  you  get  it,  you  get  it  all — 
there  is  not  a  trace  left  for  another.  But  Syl 
via  !  I  am  afraid  Sylvia  is  like  a  big  bunch  of 
grapes  that  hangs  low  above  a  public  path 
way  :  each  passer-by  reaches  up  and  takes  a 
grape. 


15 


I  caught  some  one  taking  a  grape  the  other 
evening  —  a  sort  of  green  grape.  Sylvia  has 
been  sending  bouquets  to  the  gosling  who  was 
her  escort  on  the  evening  of  her  Commencement 
— him  of  the  duck  trousers  and  webbed  feet.  On 
one  occasion  I  have  observed  her  walking  along 
the  borders  of  my  garden  in  his  company  and 
have  overheard  her  telling  him  that  he  could 
come  in  and  get  flowers  whenever  he  wished.  I 
wish  I  might  catch  him  once. 

To  cap  the  climax,  after  twilight  on  the  even 
ing  in  question,  I  strolled  out  to  my  arbor  for  a 
quiet  hour  with  thoughts  of  Georgiana.  Whom 
should  I  surprise  in  there  but  Sylvia  and  the 
gosling !  deep  in  the  shadow  of  the  vines.  He 
had  his  arm  around  her  and  was  kissing  her. 

"  Upon  rny  honor !"  I  said ;  and  striding 
over  to  him  I  thrust  my  hand  under  his  coat- 
tails,  gripped  him  by  the  seat  of  his  ducks, 
dragged  him  head  downward  to  the  front  fence 
and  dropped  him  out  into  the  street. 


16 


"  Let  me  catch  you  in  here  kissing  anybody 
again  !"  I  said. 

He  had  bit  me  viciously  on  one  of  my  calves — 
which  are  sizable — as  I  had  dragged  him  along  ; 
so  that  I  had  been  forced  to  stoop  down  and 
twist  him  loose  by  screwing  the  end  of  his 
spongy  nose.  I  met  him  on  the  street  early  the 
next  morning,  and  it  wore  the  hue  of  a  wild 
plum  in  its  ripeness.  I  tapped  it. 

"  Only  three  persons  know  of  your  misbehav 
ior  last  night,"  I  said.  "  If  you  ever  breathe 
it  to  a  soul  that  you  soiled  that  child  by 
your  touch,  the  next  time  I  get  hold  of  you 
it  will  not  be  your  nose :  it  will  be  your 
neck !" 

My  mortification  at  Sylvia's  laxness  was  so 
keen  that  I  should  have  forborne  returning  to 
the  arbor  had  I  not  felt  assured  that  she  must 
have  escaped  to  the  house  through  modesty  and 
sheer  shame.  But  she  had  not  budged. 

"  I  blush  for  you,  Sylvia  !"  I  exclaimed.     "  I 


17 


know  all  about  that  fellow  !  He  shouldn't  kiss 
— my  old  cat !" 

"  I  don't  see  what  you  have  to  do  with  it  F' 
said  Sylvia,  placidly.  "  And  I  have  waited  to 
tell  you  that  I  hope  you  will  never  interrupt  me 
again  when  I  am  engaged  in  entertaining  a 
young  gentleman." 

"  Sylvia,  my  dear  child !"  I  said,  gravely, 
sitting  down  beside  her.  "  How  old  are 
you  ?" 

"  I  arn  of  the  proper  age  to  manage  my  own 
affairs,"  said  Sylvia,  "  with  the  assistance  of  my 
immediate  family." 

"Well,  I  don't  think  you  are,"  I  replied. 
"  And  since  your  brother  is  at  West  Point,  there 
is  one  thing  that  I  am  going  to  take  the  liberty 
of  telling  you,  which  the  other  members  of  your 
family  may  not  fully  understand.  If  you  were 
younger,  .Sylvia,  you  might  do  a  good  deal  of 
this  and  not  be  hurt  by  it ;  or  you  might  riot  be 
hurt  by  it  if  you  were  a  good  deal  older ;  but  at 


18 


your  age  it  is  terrible ;  in  time  it  will  affect 
your  character." 

"  How  old  must  I  be  ?"  said  Sylvia,  wick 
edly. 

"  Well,  in  your  case,"  I  replied,  warmly, 
a  little  nettled  by  her  tone,  "  you'd  better  ab 
stain  altogether." 

"  And  in  your  case  ?"  said  Sylvia. 

"  You  never  mind  my  case  !"  I  retorted. 

"  But  I  do  mind  it  when  I  suffer  by  it,"  said 
Sylvia.  "  I  do  mind  it  if  it's  going  to  affect 
my  character  !" 

"  You  know  very  well,  Sylvia,"  I  replied, 
"  that  I  never  kissed  you  but  three  times,  and 
then  as  a  brother." 

"  I  do  not  wish  any  one  but  my  brother  to 
kiss  me  in  that  way,"  said  Sylvia,  with  a  pout 
of  contempt. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  this  was  a  fitting  time 
to  guide  Sylvia's  powers  of  discrimination  as 
to  the  way  she  should  act  with  indifferent  men 


19 


— and  as  to  the  way  that  different  men  would 
try  to  act  with  her. 

I  had  been  talking  to  her  in  a  low  tone  I  do 
not  know  how  long.  Her  ill-nature  had  quickly 
vanished  ;  she  was,  in  her  way,  provoking,  charm 
ing.  I  was  sitting  close  to  her.  The  moonlight 
played  upon  her  daring,  wilful  face  through 
the  leaves  of  the  grape-vines.  It  was  unpremed 
itated  j  my  nature  was,  most  probably,  unstrung 
at  the  instant  by  ungratified  longings  for  Geor- 
giana ;  but  suddenly  I  bent  down  and  kissed 
her. 

Instantly  both  Sylvia  and  I  started  from  the 
seat.  How  long  Georgiana  had  been  standing 
in  the  entrance  to  the  arbor  I  do  not  know. 
She  may  that  instant  have  come.  But  there 
she  was,  dressed  in  white  —  pure,  majestic, 
with  the  moon  shining  behind  her,  and  shed 
ding  about  her  the  radiance  of  a  heavenly  veil. 

"  Come,  Sylvia,"  she  said,  with  perfect  sweet 
ness  ;  and,  bidding  me  good-night  with  the  same 


20 

gentlewoman's  calm,  she  placed  her  arm  about 
the  child's  waist,  and  the  two  sisters  passed 
slowly  and  silently  out  of  my  garden. 

At  that  moment,  if  I  could  have  squeezed  my 
self  into  the  little  screech-owl  perched  in  a  cor 
ner  of  the  arbor,  I  would  gladly  have  crept  into 
the  hollow  of  an  oak  and  closed  my  eyes.  Still, 
how  was  I  to  foresee  what  I  should  do  ?  A  man's 
conversation  may  be  his  own  ;  his  conduct  may 
vibrate  with  the  extinct  movements  of  his  an 
cestors. 

Georgiana's  behavior  then  was  merely  the 
forerunner  of  larger  marvels.  For  next  morn 
ing  I  wrote  a  futile  drastic  treatise  on  Woman's 
inability  to  understand  Man  and  Man's  inabil 
ity  to  understand  Himself,  and  set  it  under  her 
window.  It  made  such  a  roll  of  paper  that  the 
goldfinch's  nest  looked  as  though  it  were  dis 
tent  with  a  sort  of  misshapen  ostrich  egg.  All 
day  I  waited  with  a  heart  as  silent  as  a  great 
clock  run  down ;  my  system  of  philosophy 


21 


swung  dead  in  the  air.  To  my  tortured  vision 
as  I  eyed  it  secretly  from  my  porch,  it  took  on 
the  semblance  of  one  of  Sylvia's  poetical  pota 
toes,  and  I  found  myself  urging  in  its  behalf 
Sylvia's  fondest  epithets  :  "  how  homely,  yet 
how  beautiful,"  "  little  thought  of,  but  very 
necessary,"  "  unostentatious,  but  of  lovely  in 
ternal  appearance." 

Towards  sunset  I  took  it  sadly  down.  On 
top  of  the  nest  lay  Georgiana's  old  scarlet  emery- 
bag  stuck  full  of  her  needles  !  She  had  divined 
what  all  the  writing  meant  and  would  not  have 
it.  Instead  she  sent  me  this  emblem  not  only 
of  her  forgiveness  but  of  her  surrender.  When 
a  man  expects  a  woman  to  scold  him  and  she 
does  not,  he  either  gets  to  be  a  little  afraid  of 
her  morally  or  he  wants  to  take  her  in  his  arms. 
Henceforth,  if  Georgiana  were  removed  to  an 
other  planet,  I  would  rather  worship  her  there 
simply  as  my  evening  or  morning  star  than 
coexist  with  any  earthly  woman.  One  thought 


22 


besets  me  :  did  she  realize  that  perhaps  she 
herself  was  the  cause  of  my  misdemeanors  with 
Sylvia  ?  Has  she  the  penetration  to  discover  that 
when  a  woman  is  engaged  to  a  man  she  cannot 
deny  him  all  things  except  at  her  own  peril  ? 

This  proof  of  her  high-mindedness  and  the 
enchanting  glimpses  of  her  face  that  she  has 
vouchsafed  me  since,  goaded  me  yesterday 
morning  to  despatch  a  reckless  note :  "  Will 
you  come  to  the  arbor  for  a  little  while  to 
night  ?  I  have  never  dared  ask  this  before, 
but  you  know  how  I  have  desired  it.  It  is  so 
much  more  private  there.  Write  on  the  back 
of  this  paper  one  word,  i  Yes.;  There  is  a 
pencil  in  the  nest." 

The  shutters  were  nearly  closed,  but  I  caught 
sight  of  the  curve  of  a  shoulder  and  the  move 
ment  of  a  busy  hand.  As  I  pushed  the  note  up 
I  said : 

"  Read  it  at  once.     I  am  waiting." 

A  hand  came  out  and  took  in  the  note,  then 


23 


the  pencil ;  then  note  and  pencil  were  put  back. 
On  the  former  was  written,  "  Yes." 

I  think  I  must  have  done  a  dozen  things  in 
five  minutes,  and  then  I  started  aimlessly  off  to 
town.  On  the  way  I  met  Georgiana. 

"  Good  God,  Georgiana  I"  I  exclaimed.  "  You 
Here?" 

"  Where  else  ?"  said  she.     "  And  why  not  3" 

"  I  thought  I  just  saw  you  at  the  window — " 
And  then  my  awful  soul  within  me  said: 
"H-sh-sh-sh!  Not  a  word  of  this  to  a  human 
being !" 

After  supper  last  night  I  called  old  Jack  and 
Dilsy  into  the  garden,  and  led  them  around  it, 
giving  orders  ;  thence  to  the.  arbor,  where  I  bade 
them  sit  down. 

In  the  year  of  1805  Mr.  Jefferson,  as  presi 
dent  of  the  Philosophical  Society,  ordered  exca 
vations  to  be  made  at  Big  Bone  Lick  in  Ken 
tucky  for  the  skeletons  of  extinct  animals.  My 
father,  who  was  interested  in  antiquities,  had 


had  much  correspondence  with  Mr.  Jefferson  in 
regard  to  earlier  discoveries  at  that  spot;  and 
when  this  expedition  was  undertaken  he  formed 
one  of  the  explorers.  Jack,  bis  servant,  at  that 
time  a  strapping  young  fellow,  had  been  taken 
along  as  one  of  the  negroes  who  were  to  do  the 
digging. 

The  wonders  then  unearthed  have  always  been 
the  greenest  spot  in  old  Jack's  memory ;  so  that 
they  have  been  growing  larger  ever  since.  When 
ever  I  wish  to  hear  him  discourse  with  the  dog 
matic  bluster  of  a  sage  who  had  original  infor 
mation  as  to  geological  times,  I  set  Jack  to  talking 
about  the  bones  of  the  Mastodon-Maximus,  the 
name  of  which  he  gets  from  me,  with  a  puzzled 
shake  of  his  head,  about  regularly  once  a  year. 
It  is  my  private  opinion  that  old  Jack  believes 
Big  Bone  Lick  to  have  been  the  place  where  the 
Ark  settled,  and  these  to  have  been  the  bones  of 
animals  that  had  been  swept  out  by  Noah  on 
landing. 


25 


Last  night  I  had  merely  to  ask  him  whether 
he  credited  the  story  of  an  old  traveller  that  he 
had  once  used  some  ribs  found  there  for  his  tent- 
poles  and  a  tooth  for  his  hominy  beater;  where 
upon  Dilsy,  foreseeing  what  was  coming,  excused 
herself  on  the  plea  of  sudden  rheumatism  and 
went  to  bed,  as  I  wished  she  should. 

The  hinges  on  the  little  private  gate  under 
Georgiana's  window  I  keep  rusty ;  this  enables 
me  to  note  when  any  one  enters  my  garden.  By- 
and-by  I  heard  the  hinges  softly  creak,  where 
upon  I  feigned  not  to  believe  what  Jack  was  tell 
ing  me ;  whereupon  he  fell  into  an  harangue  of 
such  affectionate  and  sustained  vehemence  that 
when  the  hinges  creaked  again  I  was  never  able 
to  determine.  Was  ever  such  usage  made  be 
fore  of  an  antediluvian  monster  ? 

To-day  the  sewing -girl  thrust  out  spiteful 
faces  at  me  several  times. 

She  is  the  one  that  helped  Georgiana  last  year 
when  she  was  making  her  wedding-clothes  to 


26 


marry  the  West  Point  cousin.  God  keep  him 
safely  in  the  distance,  or  guide  him  firmly  to  the 
van  of  war !  How  does  a  woman  feel  when  she 
is  making  her  wedding-clothes  for  the  second 
time  and  for  another  man  ?  I  know  very  well 
how  the  other  man  feels.  Upon  my  urging 
Georgiana  to  marry  me  at  once — nature  does 
not  recognize  engagements ;  they  are  a  device 
of  civilization — she  protested  : 

"  But  I  must  get  ready !  Think  of  the  sew- 
ing!" 

"  Oh,  bother  !"  I  grumbled.  "  Where  are  all 
those  clothes  that  you  made  last  year  ?" 

How  was  I  to  suppose  that  Georgiana  must 
have  everything  made  over  as  part  of  her  feel 
ing  for  me  ?  I  would  not  decree  it  otherwise  ; 
yet  I  question  whether  this  delicacy  may  not  im 
pose  reciprocal  obligations,  and  remove  from  my 
life  certain  elements  of  abiding  comfort.  What 
if  it  should  engender  a  prejudice  against  my  own 
time-worn  acquaintances — the  familiars  of  my 


fireside  ?  It  might  be  justifiable  sagacity  in  me 
to  keep  them  locked  up  for  the  first  year  or  so 
after  Georgiana  and  I  become  a  diune  being ; 
and,  upon  the  whole,  she  should  never  know 
what  may  have  been  the  premarital  shortcom 
ings  of  my  wardrobe  as  respects  things  unseen. 
No  matter  how  well  a  bachelor  may  appear 
dressed,  there  is  no  telling  what  he  conceals 
upon  his  person.  I  feel  sure  that  the  retrospec 
tive  discovery  of  a  ravelling  would  somehow  dis 
please  Georgiana  as  a  feature  of  our  courtship. 
Nature  is  very  stringent  here,  very  guarded, 
truly  universal.  Invariably  the  young  men  of 
my  day  grow  lavish  in  the  use  of  unguents  when 
they  are  preparing  for  natural  selection ;  and  I 
flatter  myself  that  even  ray  own  garments — in 
their  superficial  aspects  at  least,  and  during  my 
long  pursuit  of  Georgiana — have  not  been  very 
far  from  somewhat  slightly  ingratiating. 

This  pursuit  is  now  drawing  to  a  close.     It  is 
nearly  the  last  of  June.     She  has  given  me  her 


28 


word  that  she  will  marry  me  early  in  September. 
Two  months  for  her  to  get  the  bridal  feathers 
ready ;  two  for  me  to  prepare  the  nest. 

I  have  not  yet  breathed  our  engagement  to 
Mrs.  Walters.  To  tell  her  and  not  expect  her 
to  tell  would  be  like  giving  a  thump  to  the  dry 
head  of  a  thistle  on  a  breezy  day  and  not  ex 
pecting  the  seed  to  go  flying  off  in  a  hundred 
directions. 


n 

I  HAVE  forgotten  nature.  I  barely  know  that 
July,  now  nearly  gone,  has  passed,  sifted  with 
sweetness  and  ablaze  with  light.  Time  has  swept 
on,  the  world  run  round ;  but  I  have  stood  mo 
tionless,  abiding  the  hour  of  ray  marriage  as  a 
tree  the  season  of  its  leaves.  For  all  that  it 
looks  so  calm,  within  goes  on  a  tremendous 
surging  of  sap  against  its  moments  of  efflo 
rescence. 

After  which  I  pray  that,  not  as  a  tree,  but  as 
a  man,  I  may  have  a  little  peace.  When  Geor- 
giana  confessed  her  love,  I  had  supposed  this 
confession  to  mark  the  end  of  her  elusiveness. 
When  later  on  she  presented  to  me  the  symbol 
of  a  heart  pierced  with  needles,  I  had  taken  it 
for  granted  that  thenceforth  she  would  settle 


30 


down  into  something  like  a  state  of  prenuptial 
domestication,  growing  less  like  a  swift  and 
more  like  a  hen.  But  there  is  nothing  gallina 
ceous  about  my  Georgiana.  I  took  possession 
of  her  vow  and  the  emery -ball,  not  of  her;  the 
privilege  was  merely  given  to  plant  my  flag-staff 
on  the  uncertain  edge  of  an  unknown  land.  In 
war  it  sometimes  becomes  necessary  to  devas 
tate  a  whole  country  in  order  to  control  a  single 
point:  I  should  be  pleased  to  learn  what  por 
tion  of  the  earth's  surface  I  am  required  to  sub 
due  ere  I  shall  hold  one  little  citadel. 

As  for  me,  Georgiana  requires  that  I  shall  be 
a  good  deal  like  an  old  rock  jutting  out  of  the 
quiet  earth  :  never  ruffled,  never  changing  either 
on  the  surface  or  at  heart,  bearing  whatever  falls 
upon  me,  be  it  frost  'or  sun,  and  warranted  to 
waste  away  only  by  a  sort  of  impersonal  disinte 
gration  at  the  rate  of  half  an  inch  to  the  thou 
sand  years.  Meantime  she  exacts  for  herself  the 
privilege  of  dwelling  near  as  the  delighted  cave 


31 


of  the  winds.  The  part  of  wisdom  in  me  then 
is  not  to  heed  each  sallying  gust,  but  to  capture 
the  cave  and  drive  the  winds  away. 

For  I  know  in  whom  I  have  believed;  I  know 
that  this  myriad  caprice  is  but  the  deepening  of 
excitement  on  the  verge  of  captivity  ;  I  know 
that  on  ahead  lie  the  regions  of  perpetual  calm 
— my  Islands  of  the  Blest. 

Georgiana  does  not  play  upon  the  pianoforte ; 
or,  as  Mrs.  Walters  would  declare,  she  does  not 
perform  upon  the  instrument.  Sylvia  does  ; 
she  performs,  she  executes.  There  are  times 
when  she  will  execute  a  piece  called  "  The  Last 
Hope  "  until  the  neighbors  are  filled  with  de 
spair  and  ready  to  stretch  their  heads  on  the 
block  to  any  more  merciful  executioner.  Nor 
does  Georgiana  sing  to  company  in  the  parlor. 
That  is  Sylvia's  gift ;  arid  upon  the  whole  it  was 
this  unmitigated  practice  in  the  bosom — and  in 
the  ears  —  of  her  family  that  enabled  Sylvia  to 
shine  with  such  vocal  effulgence  in  the  proces- 


32 


sion  on  the  last  Fourth  of  July  and  devote  a 
pair  of  unflagging  lungs  to  the  service  of  her 
country. 

But  Georgiana  I  have  never  known  to  sing  ex 
cept  at  her  sewing  and  alone,  as  the  way  of  women 
often  is.  During  a  walk  across  the  summer  fields 
my  foot  has  sometimes  paused  at  the  Brink  of  a 
silvery  runlet,  and  I  have  followed  it  backward 
in  search  of  the  spring.  It  may  lead  to  the 
edge  of  a  dark  wood ;  thence  inward  deeper 
and  deeper;  disappearing  at  last  in  a  nook  of 
coolness  and  shadow,  green  leaves  and  mystery. 
The  overheard  rill  of  Georgiana's  voice  issues 
from  inner  depths  of  being  that  no  human  soul 
has  ever  visited,  or  perhaps  will  ever  visit. 
What  would  I  not  give  to  thread  my  way,  bid 
den  and  alone,  to  that  far  region  of  uncaptured 
loveliness  ? 

Of  late  some  of  the  overhead  lullabies  have 
touched  me  inexpressibly.  They  beat  upon  my 
ear  like  the  musical  reveries  of  future  mother- 


83 


hood — they  betoken  in  Georgiana's  maidenhood 
the  dreaming  unrest  of  the  maternal. 

One  morning  not  long  ago,  with  a  sort  of  piti 
ful  gayety,  her  song  ran  in  the  wise  of  saying 
how  we  should  gather  our  rose-buds  while  we 
may.  The  warning  could  not  have  been  addressed 
to  me  ;  I  shall  gather  mine  while  I  may — the  un- 
rifled  rose  of  Georgiana's  life,  body  and  spirit. 

Naturally  she  and  I  have  avoided  the  subject 
of  the  Cardinal.  But  to  the  tragedy  of  his  death 
was  joined  one  circumstance  of  such  coarse  and 
brutal  unconcern  that  it  had  left  me  not  only 
remorseful  but  resentful.  As  we  sat  together 
the  other  evening,  after  one  of  those  silences 
that  fall  unregarded  between  us,  I  could  no 
longer  forbear  to  face  an  understanding. 

"  Georgiana,"  I  said,  "  do  you  know  what  be 
came  of  the  redbird  ?" 

Unwittingly  the  color  of  reproach  must  have 
lain  upon  my  words,  for  she  answered  quickly 
with  yet  more  in  hers, 


34 


"  I  had  it  buried  !" 

It  was  my  turn  to  be  surprised. 

"  Are  you  sure  ?" 

"  I  am  sure.  I  told  them  where  to  bury  it ; 
I  showed  them  the  very  spot — under  the  cedar. 
They  told  me  they  had.  Why  ?" 

I  thought  it  better  that  she  should  learn  the 
truth. 

"  You  know  we  can't  trust  our  negroes.  They 
disobeyed  you.  They  lied  to  you  ;  they  never 
buried  it.  They  threw  it  on  the  ash-pile.  The 
pigs  tore  it  to  pieces  ;  I  saw  them ;  they  were 
rooting  at  it  and  tearing  it  to  pieces." 

She  had  clasped  her  hands,  and  turned  towards 
me  in  acute  distress.  After  a  while,  with  her 
face  aside,  she  said,  slowly, 

"  And  you  have  believed  that  I  knew  of  this 
— that  I  permitted  it  ?" 

"  I  have  believed  nothing.  I  have  waited  to 
understand." 

A  few  minutes  later  she  said,  as  if  to  herself, 


35 


"  Many  a  person  would  have  been  only  too 
glad  to  believe  it,  and  to  blame  me."  Then  fold 
ing  her  hands  over  one  of  mine,  she  said,  with 

o 

tears  in  her  eyes : 

"  Promise  me — promise  me,  Adam,  until  we 
are  married,  and — yes,  after  we  are  married — as 
long  as  I  live,  that  you  will  never  believe  any 
thing  of  me  until  you  know  that  it  is  true  !" 

"  I  do  promise,  dear,  dear,  dearest  one  !"  I 
cried,  trying  to  draw  her  to  me,  but  she  would 
not  permit  it.  "  And  you  ?" 

"  I  shall  never  misunderstand,"  she  replied, 
as  with  a  flash  of  white  inward  light.  "  I  know 
that  you  can  never  do  anything  that  will  make 
me  think  the  less  of  you." 

Since  the  sad,  sad  day  on  which  I  caused  the 
death  of  the  Cardinal,  I  have  paid  little  heed  to 
the  birds.  The  subject  has  been  a  sore  one. 
Besides,  my  whole  life  is  gradually  changing 
under  the  influence  of  Georgiana.  who  draws  me 

o  ' 


36 


farther  and  farther  away  from  nature,  and  nearer 
and  nearer  to  my  own  kind. 

When,  two  years  ago,  she  moved  into  this 
part  of  the  State,  I  dwelt  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
town  and  of  humanity.  On  the  side  of  them  lav 
the  sour  land  of  my  prose ;  the  country,  nature, 
rolled  away  on  the  other  as  the  sweet  deep  ocean 
of  my  poetry.  I  called  my  neighbors  my  mani 
festations  of  prose ;  my  doings  with  the  towns 
people,  prose  passages.  The  manifestations  and 
passages  scarce  made  a  scrimp  volume.  There 
was  Jacob,  who  lived  on  his  symptoms  and  died 
without  any ;  there  was  and  there  is  Mrs. 
Walters — may  she  last  to  the  age  of  the  eagle. 
In  town,  a  couple  of  prose  items  of  cheap  qual 
ity  :  an  old  preacher  who  was  willing  to  save  my 
soul  while  my  strawberries  were  ripe,  and  an 
old  doctor  who  cared  to  save  my  body  so  long 
as  he  could  eat  my  pears — with  others  interested 
severally  in  my  asparagus,  my  rhubarb,  my  lilies, 
and  sweet-peas.  Always  not  forgetting  a  few 


inestimably  wholesome,  cheery,  noble  souls,  who 
sought  me  out  on  the  edge  of  human  life  rather 
than  succeeded  in  drawing  me  over  the  edge 
towards  the  centre. 

But  this  Georgiana  has  been  doing  —  long 
without  my  knowing  it.  I  have  become  less  a 
woodsman,  more  a  civilian.  Unless  she  relents, 
it  may  end  in  my  ceasing  to  be  a  lover  of  birds, 
and  running  for  the  Legislature.  Seeing  me  so 
much  on  the  streets,  one  of  my  fellow-townsmen 
declared  the  other  day  that  if  I  would  consent 
to  come  out  of  the  canebrakes  for  good  they 
would  make  me  postmaster. 

It  has  fallen  awkwardly  for  me  that  this  en 
forced  transformation  in  my  tastes  and  habits 
should  coincide  with  the  season  of  my  love- 
making  ;  and  it  is  well  that  Georgiana  does  not 
demand  in  me  the  capering  or  strutting  manners 
of  those  young  men  of  my  day  who  likewise 
are  exerting  themselves  to  marry.  I  am  more 
like  a  badger  than  like  one  of  them ;  and  indeed 


38 


I  find  the  image  of  my  fate  and  my  condition 
in  a  badger-like  creature  close  at  hand. 

For  the  carpenter  who  is  at  work  upon  bridal 
repairs  in  my  house  has  the  fancy  not  uncom 
mon  among  a  class  hereabouts  to  keep  a  tamed 
raccoon.  He  brings  it  with  him  daily,  and  fast 
ens  it  by  its  chain  to  a  tree  in  my  front  yard :  a 
rough,  burly,  knowing  fellow,  loving  wild  nature, 
but  forced  to  acquire  the  tediousness  of  civiliza 
tion  ;  meantime  leading  a  desperately  hampered 
life;  wondering  at  his  own  teeth  and  claws,  and 
sorely  put  to  it  to  invent  a  decent  occupation. 
So  am  I;  and  as  the  raccoon  paces  everywhere 
after  the  carpenter,  so  do  I  in  spirit  pace  every 
where  after  Georgiana  ;  only  his  chain  seems 
longer  and  more  easily  to  be  broken.  The  rest 
less  beast  enlivens  his  captivity  by  the  keenest 
scrutiny  of  every  object  within  his  range  ;  I  too 
have  busied  myself  with  the  few  people  that  have 
come  this  way. 

First,  early  in  the  month  Georgiana's  brother 


39 


— down  from  West  Point,  very  stately,  and  with 
his  brow  stern,  as  if  for  gory  war.  When  I  called 
promptly  to  pay  my  respects,  as  his  brother-in- 
law  to  be,  he  was  sitting  on  the  front  porch  sur 
rounded  by  a  subdued  family,  Georgiana  alone 
remaining  unawed.  He  looked  me  over  indif 
ferently,  as  though  I  were  a  species  of  ancient 
earthworks  not  worth  any  more  special  recon- 
noissance,  and  continued  his  most  superior  re 
marks  to  his  mother  on  the  approaching  visit  of 
three  generals. 

Upon  leaving  I  invited  him  to  join  me  on  the 
morrow  in  a  squirrel  hunt  with  smooth-bores, 
whereupon  he  manifested  surprise  that  I  was  ac 
quainted  with  the  use  of  fire-arms.  Whereupon 
I  remarked  that  I  would  sometimes  hit  big  game 
if  it  were  so  close  that  I  could  not  miss  it ,  and 
further  urged  him  to  have  breakfast  with  me  at 
a  very  early  hour  in  orcfer  that  we  might  reach 
the  woods  while  the  squirrels  were  at  theirs. 

Going  home,  I  knocked  at  the  cabin  where 


40 


Jack  and  Dilsy  lay  snoring  side  by  side  with  the 
velocity  of  rival  saw-mills,  and  begged  Dilsy  to 
give  me  a  bite  about  daybreak — coffee  and  corn- 
batter  cakes — saying  that  I  could  get  breakfast 
when  I  returned.  I  shared  this  scant  bite  with 
my  young  soldier — to  Dilsy's  abject  mortifica 
tion,  I  not  having  told  her  of  his  coming.  Then 
we  set  off  at  a  brisk  pace  towards  a  great  forest 
south  of  the  town  some  five  miles  away,  where 
the  squirrels  had  appeared  and  were  doing  great 
damage,  being  the  last  of  a  countless  plague  of 
them  that  overran  northern  and  central  Kentucky 
a  year  ago. 

On  the  way  I  dragged  him  through  several 
canebrakes,  a  thicket  of  blackberry ;  kept  him 
out  all  day  ;  said  not  a  word  about  dinner ;  avoid 
ed  every  spot  where  he  could  have  gotten  a  swal 
low  of  water ;  not  once  sat  down  to  rest ;  towards 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon  told  him  I  desired 
to  take  enough  squirrels  home  to  make  Jack  a 
squirrel-skin  overcoat,  and  asked  him  to  carry 


41 


while  I  killed ;  loaded  him  with  squirrels,  neck, 
shoulders,  breast,  back,  and  loins,  till  as  he  moved 
he  tottered  and  swayed  like  a  squirrel  pyramid  ; 
about  sundown  challenged  him  to  what  he  had 
not  yet  had,  some  crack  shooting,  which  in  that 
light  requires  young  eyesight,  and  barked  the 
squirrel  for  him  four  times  ;  later  still  snuffed 
the  candle  for  him,  having  brought  one  along 
for  the  purpose  ;  and  then,  with  my  step  fresh, 
led  him  swiftly  home. 

He  has  the  blood  of  Georgiana  in  him,  and 
stood  it  like  a  man.  But  he  was  nearly  dead. 
He  has  saluted  me  since  as  though  I  were  a 
murderous  garrison  intrenched  on  the  Heights 
of  Abraham. 

Then  the  three  generals  of  the  United  States 
army  descended  in  a  body — or  in  three  bodies ; 
and  the  truth  is  that  their  three  bodies  scarce 
held  them,  they  were  in  such  a  state  of  flesh 
when  they  reached  Kentucky,  and  of  being  per 
petually  overfed  while  they  remained.  The  object 


42 


of  their  joint  visit  under  a  recent  act  of  Congress 
was  to  locate  a  military  asylum  for  disabled  sol 
diers  ;  and  had  they  stayed  much  longer  they 
must  have  had  themselves  admitted  to  their  own 
institution  as  foremost  of  the  disabled.  Having 
spent  some  time  at  the  Lower  Blue  Lick  Springs, 
the  proposed  site — where  this  summer  are  over 
five  hundred  guests  of  our  finest  Southern  soci 
ety — they  afterwards  were  drawn  around  with 
immense  solidity  towards  Louisville,  Frankfort, 
Maysville,  Paris,  and  Lexington,  being  every 
where  received  with  such  honors  and  provisions 
that  these  great  guns  were  in  danger  of  becom 
ing  spiked  forever  in  both  barrel  and  tube. 

Upon  reaching  this  town  one  of  them  de 
tached  himself  from  the  heated  rolling  mass 
and  accepted  the  invitation  of  young  Cobb — 
who  had  formed  the  acquaintance  at  West  Point 
— to  make  a  visit  in  his  home.  He  had  not 
been  there  many  days  before  he  manoeuvred  to 
establish  a  private  military  retreat  for  himself 


43 


in  the  affections  of  Mrs.  Cobb.  So  that  his 
presence  became  a  profanation  to  Georgiana, 
whose  reverence  for  her  heroic 'father  burns  like 
an  altar  of  sacred  fire,  and  whose  nature  became 
rent  in  twain  between  her  mother's  suitor  and 
her  brother's  guest. 

A  most  pestiferous  variety  of  caterpillar  has 
infested  the  tops  of  my  cherry-trees  this  sum 
mer,  and  during  the  general's  encampment  near 
Mrs.  Cobb  I  happened  several  times  to  be  mount 
ed  on  my  step-ladder,  busy  with  my  priming- 
shears,  when  he  was  decoying  her  around  her 
garden — just  over  the  fence — buckled  in  to  suffo 
cation,  and  with  his  long  epaulettes  golden  in  the 
sun  like  tassels  of  the  corn.  I  was  engaged  in  ex 
terminating  this  insect  on  the  last  day  of  his  so 
journ.  They  were  passing  almost  beneath  me  on 
the  other  side  ;  he  had  been  talking  ;  I  heard 
her  brief  reply,  in  a  voice  low  and  full  of  dignity, 

"  I  have  been  married,  sir  !" 

"  Mother  of  Georgiana !"  I  cried,  within  my- 


44 


self.  But  bad  she  ever  thought  of  taking  a  sec 
ond  husband  she  must  have  seen  through  "  Old 
Drumbeater,"  as  Sylvia  called  him.  There  were 
times  when  their  breakfast  would  be  late — for 
the  sake  of  letting  his  chicken  be  broiled  in 
slow  perfection  or  his  rolls  or  waffles  come  to  a 
faultless  brown  ;  and  I,  being  at  work  near  the 
garden  fence,  would  hear  him  tramping  up  and 
down  the  walk  on  the  other  side  and  swearing 
at  a  family  that  had  such  irregular  meals.  The 
camel,  a  lean  beast,  requires  an  extraordinary 
supply  of  food,  which  it  proceeds  to  store  away 
in  its  hump  as  nourishment  to  be  drawn  upon 
while  it  is  crossing  the  desert.  There  may  be 
no  long  campaigning  before  the  general ;  but  if 
there  were  and  rations  were  short,  why  could  he 
not  live  upon  his  own  back  ?  It  is  of  a  thick 
ness,  a  roundness,  and  an  impenetrability  that 
would  have  justified  Jackson  in  using  him  as  a 
cotton-bale  at  the  battle  of  New  Orleans. 

Thus  in  my  little  corner  of  the  world  we  have 


45 


all  been  at  the  same  business  of  love,  and  I  won 
der  whether  the  corner  be  not  the  world  itself : 
Mrs.  Cobb  and  the  general,  Georgiana  and  I, 
the  sewing-girl  and  the  carpenter ;  for  I  had  for 
gotten  to  note  how  quickly  these  two  have  found 
out  that  they  want  each  other.  My  arbor  is  at 
his  service,  if  he  wishes  it ;  and  Jack  shall  keep 
silent  about  the  mastodon. 

It  is  true  that  from  this  sentimental  enumera 
tion  I  have  omitted  the  name  of  Mrs.  Walters ; 
but  there  is  a  secret  here  which  not  even  Georgi 
ana  herself  will  ever  get  from  me.  Mrs.  Walters 
came  to  this  town  twenty  years  ago  from  the  re 
gion  of  Bowling  Green.  Some  years  afterwards 
I  made  a  trip  into  that  part  of  the  State  to  hear 
the  mocking-bird — for  it  fills  those  more  south 
ern  groves,  but  never  visits  ours  ;  and  while  there 
I  stepped  by  accident  on  this  discovery  :  There 
never  was  any  Mr.  Walters.  It  is  her  maiden 
name.  But  as  I  see  the  freedom  of  her  life  and 
reflect  upon  the  things  that  a  widow  can  do  and 


46 


an  old  maid  cannot — with  her  own  sex  and  with 
mine — I  commend  her  wisdom  and  leave  her  at 
peace.  Indeed  I  have  gone  so  far,  when  she  has 
asked  for  my  sympathy,  as  to  lament  with  her 
Mr.  Walters's  death.  After  all,  what  great  dif 
ference  is  there  between  her  weeping  for  him 
because  he  is  no  more,  and  her  weeping  for  him 
because  he  never  was?  After  which  she  freshens 
herself  up  with  another  handkerchief,  a  little 
Florida  water,  and  a  touch  of  May  roses  from 
the  apothecary's. 

And  I  have  omitted  the  name  of  Sylvia ;  but 
then  Sylvia's  name,  like  that  of  Lot's  wife,  can 
never  be  used  as  one  of  a  class,  and  she  herself 
must  always  be  spoken  of  alone.  However,  if 
Sylvia  had  been  Lot's  Avife  she  would  not  have 
turned  to  a  pillar  of  salt,  she  would  most  proba 
bly  have  become  a  geyser. 

I  don't  know  why,  but  she  went  on  a  visit  to 
Henderson  after  that  evening  in  the  arbor.  I 
suspect  the  governing  power  of  Georgiana's  wis- 


47 


dom  to  have  been  put  forth  here,  for  within  a 
few  days  I  received  from  Sylvia  a  letter  which 
she  asked  me  not  to  show  to  Georgiana,  and  in 
which  she  invited  me  to  correspond  with  her  se 
cretly.  The  letter  was  of  a  singularly  adhesive 
quality  as  to  the  emotions.  Throughout  she  re 
ferred  to  herself  as  "  the  exile,"  although  it  was 
plain  that  she  wrote  in  the  highest  spirits ;  and 
in  concluding  she  openly  charged  Georgiana  with 
having  given  her  a  black  eye — a  most  unspeak 
able  phrase,  surely  picked  up  in  the  school-room. 
As  a  return  for  the  black  eye,  Sylvia  said  that 
she  had  composed  a  poem  to  herself,  a  copy  of 
which  she  enclosed. 

I  quote  Sylvia's  commemorative  verses  upon 
her  wrongs  and  her  banishment.  They  show 
features  of  metrical  excess,  and  can  scarce 
ly  claim  to  reflect  the  polish  of  her  calmer 
art ;  but  they  are  of  value  to  me  as  proving 
that  whatever  the  rebuke  Georgiana  may  have 
given,  it  had  rebounded  from  that  elastic  spirit. 


48 


LINES  TO   MYSELF 

Oh !   she  was  a  lovely  girl, 

So  pretty  and  so  fair, 
With  gentle,  love-lit  eyes, 

And  wavy,  dark  brown  hair. 

I  loved  the  gentle  girl, 

But,  oh  !   I  heaved  a  sigh 
When  first  she  told  me  she  could  see 

Out  of  only  one  eye. 

But  soon  I  thought  within  myself 
I'd  better  save  my  tear  and  sigh 

To  bestow  upon  an  older  person  1  know 
WJio  has  more  than  one  eye. 

She  is  brave  and  intelligent 
Too.     She  is  witty  and  wise. 

She'll  accomplish  more  now  than  another 

person  I  know 
Who  has  two  eyes. 

Ah,  you  need  not  pity  her  ! 

She  needs  not  your  tear  and  sigh. 


49 


She'll  make  good  use,  I  tell  you, 
Of  her  one  remaining  eye. 

In  the  home  where  we  are  hastening, 
In  our  eternal  Home  on  High, 

See  that  you  be  not  rivalled 
By  the  girl  with  only  one  eye.* 

Having  thus  dealt  a  thrust  at  Georgiana,  Syl 
via  seems  to  have  turned  in  the  spirit  of  revenge 
upon  her  mother ;  and  when  she  came  home 
some  days  ago  she  brought  with  her  a  distant 
cousin  of  her  own  age — a  boy,  enormously  fat — 
whom  she  soon  began  to  decoy  around  the  gar 
den  as  her  mother  had  been  decoyed  by  the 
general.  Further  to  satirize  the  similarity  of 

*  Miss  Sylvia  could  not  have  been  speaking  seriously 
when  she  wrote  that  she  had  "  composed  "  this  poem.  It 
is  known  to  be  the  work  of  another  hand,  though  Sylvia 
certainly  tampered  with  the  original  and  produced  a  ver 
sion  of  her  own.  j.  L.  A. 

4 


50 


lovers,  she  one  day  pinned  upon  his  shoulders 
rosettes  of  yellow  ribbon. 

Sylvia  has  now  passed  from  Scott  to  Moore  ; 
and  several  times  lately  she  has  made  herself 
heard  in  the  garden  with  recitations  to  the  fat 
boy  on  the  subject  of  Peris  weeping  before  the 
gates  of  Paradise,  or  warbling  elegies  under  the 
green  sea  in  regard  to  Araby's  daughter.  There 
is  a  real  aptness  in  the  latter  reference  ;  for  this 
boy's  true  place  in  nature  is  the  deep  seas  of 
the  polar  regions,  where  animals  are  coated  with 
thick  tissues  of  blubber.  If  Sylvia  ever  harpoons 
him,  as  she  seems  seriously  bent  on  doing,  she 
will  have  to  drive  her  weapon  in  deep. 

Yesterday  she  sprang  across  to  me  with  her 
hair  flying  and  an  open  letter  in  her  hand. 

"  Oh,  read  it !"  she  cried,  her  face  kindling 
with  glory. 

It  turned  out  to  be  a  letter  from  the  great  Mr. 
Prentice,  of  the  Louisville  Journal,  accepting  a 
poem  she  had  lately  sent  him,  and  assigning  her 


51 

a  fixed  place  among  his  vast  and  twinkling  gal 
axy  of  Kentucky  poetesses.  The  title  of  the 
poem  was,  "  My  Lover  Kneels  to  None  but  God." 

u  I  infer  from  this,"  I  said,  gravely,  "  that 
your  lover  is  a  Kentuckian." 

"  He  is,"  cried  Sylvia.  "  Oh,  his  peerless, 
haughty  pride !" 

"  Well,  I  congratulate  you,  Sylvia,"  I  con 
tinued,  mildly,  u  upon  having  such  an  editor  and 
such  a  lover  ;  but  I  really  think  that  your  lover 
ought  to  kneel  a  little  to  Mr.  Prentice  on  this 
one  occasion." 

"Never  !"  cried  Sylvia.  "  I  would  spurn  him 
as  chaff  !" 

"  Some  day  when  you  meet  Mr.  Prentice,  Syl 
via,"  I  continued,  further,  "  you  will  want  to 
be  very  nice  to  him,  and  you  might  give  him 
something  new  to  parse." 

Sylvia  studied  me  dubiously  ;  the  subject  is 
not  one  that  reassures  her. 

"  Because  the  other  day  T  heard  a  very  great 


52 


friend  of  Mr.  Prentice's  say  of  him  that  when  he 
was  fifteen  he  could  parse  every  sentence  in 
Virgil  and  Homer.  And  if  he  could  do  that 
then,  think  what  he  must  be  able  to  do  now, 
and  what  a  pleasure  it  must  afford  him  !" 

I  would  not  imbitter  Sylvia's  joy  by  intimat 
ing  that  perhaps  Mr.  Prentice's  studious  regard 
for  much  of  the  poetry  that  he  published  was 
based  upon  the  fact  that  he  could  not  parse  it. 

There  has  been  the  most  terrible  trouble  with 
the  raccoon. 

This  morning  the  carpenter  tied  him  in  my 
yard  as  usual ;  but  some  time  during  the  fore 
noon,  in  a  fit  of  rage  at  his  confinement,  he 
pulled  the  collar  over  his  head  and  was  gone. 
Whither  and  how  long  no  one  knew  ;  but  it 
seems  that  at  last,  by  dint  of  fences  and  trees, 
he  attained  to  the  unapproachable  distinction  of 
standing  on  the  comb  of  Mrs.  Walters's  house- 
poor  Mrs.  Walters,  who  has  always  held  him  in 


53 


such  deadly  fear  !  she  would  as  soon  have  had 
him  on  the  comb  of  her  head.  Advancing 
along  the  roof,  he  mounted  the  chimney.  Glan 
cing  down  this,  he  perhaps  reached  the  conclu 
sion  that  it  was  more  like  nature  and  a  hollow 
tree  than  anything  that  civilization  had  yet  been 
able  to  produce,  and  he  proceeded  to  descend  to 
the  ground  again  by  so  dark  and  friendly  a  pas 
sage.  His  progress  was  stopped  by  a  bundle  of 
straw  at  the  bottom,  which  he  quickly  tore  away, 
and  having  emerged  from  a  grove  of  asparagus 
in  the  fireplace,  he  found  himself  not  on  the 
earth,  but  in  Mrs.  Walters's  bedroom.  In  what 
ways  he  now  vented  his  ill-humor  is  not  clear ; 
but  at  last  he  climbed  to  the  bed,  white  as  no 
fuller  could  white  it,  and  he  dripping  with 
soot.  Here  the  ground  beneath  him  was  of  such 
a  suspicious  and  unreasonable  softness  that  he 
apparently  resolved  to  dig  a  hole  and  see  what 
was  the  matter.  In  the  course  of  his  excavation 
he  reached  Mrs.  Walters's  feather-bed,  upon 


which  he  must  have  fallen  with  fresh  violence, 
tooth  and  nail,  in  the  idea  that  so  many  feathers 
could  not  possibly  mean  feathers  only. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Mrs.  Walters  re 
turned  from  town,  having  left  every  window 
closed  and  every  door  locked,  as  is  her  custom. 
She  threw  open  her  door  and  started  in,  but 
paused,  being  greeted  by  a  snow-storm  of  goose 
feathers  that  filled  the  air  and  now  drifted  out 
ward. 

"  Why,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter  ?"  she  ex 
claimed,  peering  in,  blank  with  bewilderment. 
Then  her  eyes  caught  sight  of  what  had  once 
been  her  bed.  Sitting  up  in  it  was  the  raccoon, 
his  long  black  jaws  bearded  with  down,  his  head 
and  ears  stuck  about  with  feathers,  and  his  eyes 
blazing  green  with  defiance. 

She  slammed  and  locked  the  door. 

"  Run  for  the  sheriff  !"  she  cried,  in  terror,  to 
the  boy  who  had  brought  her  market  basket ; 
and  she  followed  him  as  he  fled. 


55 


"  What  is  it,  Mrs.  Walters  ?"  asked  the  sheriff, 
sternly,  meeting  her  and  bringing  the  handcuffs. 

"  There's  somebody  in  my  bed !"  she  cried, 
wringing  her  hands.  "  I  believe  it's  the  devil." 

"  It's  my  'coon,"  said  the  carpenter,  laughing  ; 
for  by  this  time  we  were  all  gathered  together. 

"  What  a  dear  'coon  !"  said  the  sewing-girl. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Wralters  !  You  are  like  Little  Ked 
Riding-hood  !"  said  Sylvia. 

"  I  can't  arrest  a  'coon,  madam  !"  exclaimed 
the  sheriff,  red  in  the  neck  at  being  made  ridicu 
lous. 

"  Then  arrest  the  carpenter !"  cried  poor,  un 
happy,  excited  Mrs.  Walters,  bursting  into  tears 
and  hiding  her  face  on  Georgiana's  shoulder. 

And  among  us  all  Georgiana  was  the  only  com 
forter.  She  laid  aside  her  own  work  for  that  day, 
spent  the  rest  of  it  as  Samaritan  to  her  desper 
ately  wounded  neighbor,  and  at  nightfall,  over 
the  bed,  now  peaceful  and  snowy  once  more,  she 
spread  a  marvellous  priceless  quilt  that  she  had 


56 


long  been  making  to  exhibit  at  the  approaching 
World's  Fair  in  New  York. 

"  Georgiana,"  I  said,  as  I  walked  home  with 
her  at  bedtime,  "it  seems  to  me  that  things  hap 
pen  in  order  to  show  you  off." 

"  Only  think !"  Georgiana  replied  ;  "  she  will 
never  get  into  bed  again  without  a  shiver  and  a 
glance  at  the  chimney.  I  begrudge  her  the 
quilt  for  one  reason  :  it  has  a  piece  of  one  of 
your  old  satin  waistcoats  in  it." 

"  Did  she  tell  you  that  she  had  had  those  bed 
clothes  ever  since  her  marriage  ?" 

"  Yes ;  but  I  have  always  felt  that  she  couldn't 
have  been  married  very  long." 

"  How  long  should  you  think  ?" 

"  Oh,  well — about  a  minute." 

"  And  yet  she  certainly  has  the  clearest  pos 
sible  idea  of  Mr.  Walters.  I  imagine  that  very 
few  women  ever  come  to  know  their  husbands 
as  perfectly  as  Mrs.  Walters  knew  hers." 

"  Or  perhaps  wish  to." 


Ill 

THE  end  of  August — the  night  before  my  mar 
riage. 

Several  earthquakes  have  lately  been  felt  in 
this  part  of  the  globe.  Coming  events  cast  their 
shocks  before. 

The  news  of  it  certainly  came  like  the  shock 
of  an  earthquake  to  many  people  of  the  town, 
who  know  perfectly  well  that  no  woman  will  al 
low  the  fruit  and  flowers  to  be  carried  off  a 
place  as  a  man  will.  The  sagacious  old  soul 
who  visits  me  yearly  for  young  pie-plant  actually 
hurried  out  and  begged  for  a  basketful  of  the 
roots  at  once,  thus  taking  time — and  the  rhu 
barb — by  the  forelock.  And  the  old  epicurean 
harpy  whose  passion  is  asparagus,  having  ac 
costed  me  gruffly  on  the  street  with  an  inquiry 


58 


as  to  the  truth  of  my  engagement  and  been 
quietly  assured  how  true  it  was,  informed  me 
to  my  face  that  any  man  situated  as  happily  as 
I  am  was  an  infernal  fool  to  entangle  himself 
with  a  wife,  and  bade  me  a  curt  and  everlast 
ing  good-morning  on  the  spot.  Yet  every  day 
the  theme  of  this  old  troubadour's  talk  around 
the  hotels  is  female  entanglements  —  menda 
cious,  unwifely,  and  for  him  unavailing. 

Through  divers  channels  some  of  my  fellow- 
creatures —  specimens  of  the  most  dreadful 
prose — have  let  me  know  that  upon  marrying 
I  shall  forfeit  their  usurious  regard.  As  to 
them,  I  shall  relapse  into  the  privacy  of  an  or 
chard  that  has  been  plucked  of  its  fruit.  But 
my  wonderment  has  grown  on  the  other  hand 
at  the  number  of  those  to  whom,  as  the  signifi 
cant  unit  of  a  family  instead  of  a  bachelor  zero, 
I  have  now  acquired  a  sterling  mercantile  valua 
tion.  Upon  the  whole,  I  may  fairly  compute 
that  my  relation  to  the  human  race  has  been 


59 


totally  changed  by  the  little  I  may  cease  to  give 
away  and  by  the  less  that  I  shall  need  to  buy. 

And  Mrs.  Walters!  Although  I  prefer  to 
think  of  Mrs.  Walters  as  a  singer,  owing  to  her 
unaccountable  powers  of  reminiscential  vocaliza 
tion,  I  have  upon  occasion  classified  her  among 
the  waders ;  and  certainly,  upon  the  day  when 
my  engagement  to  Georgiana  transpired,  she 
waded  not  only  all  around  the  town  but  all 
over  it,  sustained  by  a  buoyancy  of  spirit  that 
enabled  her  to  keep  her  head  above  water  in 
depths  where  her  feet  no  longer  touched  the 
bottom. 

It  was  the  crowning  triumph  of  this  vacant 
soul's  life  to  boast  that  she  had  made  this  match ; 
and  for  the  sake  of  giving  her  so  much  happi 
ness,  I  think  I  should  have  been  willing  to  mar 
ry  Georgiana  whether  I  loved  her  or  not. 

So  we  are  all  happy  :  Sylvia,  who  thus  enters 
upon  a  family  right  to  my  flowers  and  to  the 
distinction  of  being  the  only  Miss  Cobb  ;  Dilsy, 


60 


who,  while  gathering  vegetables  about  the  gar 
den,  long  ago  began  to  receive  little  bundles  of 
quilt  pieces  thrown  down  to  her  with  a  smile 
and  the  right  word  from  the  window  above  ; 
and  Jack,  who  is  to  drive  us  on  our  bridal-trip 
to  the  Blue  Lick  Springs,  where  he  hopes  to  re 
new  his  scientific  studies  upon  the  maxillary 
bones.  I  have  hesitated  between  Blue  Lick  and 
Mud  Lick,  though  to  a  man  in  my  condition 
there  can  be  no  great  difference  between  blue 
and  mud.  And  I  had  thought  of  the  Harrods- 
burg  Springs,  but  the  negro  musicians  there 
were  lately  hurried  off  to  Canada  by  the  under 
ground  railway,  out  of  which  fact  has  grown  a 
lawsuit  for  damages  between  the  proprietor  and 
his  abolitionist  guest. 

A  few  weeks  ago  I  intrusted  a  secret  to 
Georgiana.  I  told  her  that  before  she  conde 
scended  to  shine  upon  this  part  of  the  world — 
now  the  heavenlier  part — I  had  been  engaged 


61 


upon  certain  researches  and  discoveries  relating 
to  Kentucky  birds,  especially  to  the  Kentucky 
warbler.  I  admitted  that  these  studies  had 
been  wretchedly  put  aside  under  the  more 
pressing  necessity  of  fixing  the  attention  of  all 
my  powers,  ornithological  and  other,  upon  her 
garden  window.  But  as  I  placed  specimens  of 
my  notes  and  drawings  in  her  hand,  I  remarked 
gravely  that  after  our  marriage  I  should  be 
ready  to  push  my  work  forward  without  delay. 

All  this  was  meant  to  give  her  a  delight 
ful  surprise ;  and  indeed  she  examined  the  evi 
dences  of  my  undertaking  with  devouring  and 
triumphant  eagerness.  But  what  was  my  amaze 
ment  when  she  handed  them  back  in  silence, 
and  with  a  face  as  white  as  though  as  fragrant 
as  a  rose. 

"  I  have  distressed  you,  Georgiana !"  I  cried, 
"  and  my  only  thought  had  been  to  give  you 
pleasure.  I  am  always  doing  something  wrong !" 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  passed  her  fingers 


62 

searchingly  across  her  brow,  as  we  sometimes 
instinctively  try  to  brush  away  our  cares.  Then 
she  sat  looking  down  rather  pitifully  at  her 
palms,  as  they  lay  in  her  lap. 

"  You  have  shared  your  secret  with  me,"  she 
said,  solemnly,  at  length.  "  I'll  share  mine  with 
you.  It  is  the  only  fear  that  I  have  ever  felt  regard 
ing  our  future.  It  has  never  left  me ;  and  what 
you  have  just  shown  me  fills  me  with  terror." 

I  sat  aghast. 

"I  am  not  deceived,"  she  continued;  "you 
have  not  forgotten  nature.  It  draws  you  more 
powerfully  than  anything  else  in  the  world. 
Whenever  you  speak  of  it,  you  say  the  right 
thing,  you  find  the  right  word,  you  get  the  right 
meaning.  With  nature  alone  you  are  perfectly 
natural.  Towards  society  you  show  your  shab 
by,  awkward,  trivial,  uncomfortable  side.  But 
these  drawings,  these  notes— -there  lies  your 
power,  your  gift,  your  home.  You  truly  be 
long  to  the  woodsmen." 


63 


Never  used  to  study  myself,  I  listened  to  this 
as  to  fresh  talk  about  a  stranger. 

"  Do  you  not  foresee  what  will  happen  ?"  she 
went  on,  with  emotion.  "  After  we  have  been 
married  a  while  you  will  begin  to  wander  off — at 
first  for  part  of  a  day,  then  for  a  day,  then  for  a 
day  and  a  night,  then  for  days  and  nights  to 
gether.  That  was  the  way  with  Audubon,  that 
was  the  way  with  Wilson,  that  is  the  way  with 
Thoreau,  that  will  be  the  way  with  all  whom 
nature  draws  as  it  draws  you.  And  me — think 
of  me — at  home  !  A  woman  not  able  to  go  with 
you !  Not  able  to  wade  the  creeks  and  swim 
the  rivers  !  Not  able  to  sleep  out  in  the  brown 
leaves,  to  endure  the  rain,  the  cold,  the  travel  ! 
And  so  I  shall  never  be  able  to  fill  your  life  with 
mine  as  you  fill  mine  with  -yours.  As  time 
passes,  I  shall  fill  it  less  and  less.  Every  spring- 
nature  will  be  just  as  young  to  you  ;  I  shall  be 
always  older.  The  water  you  love  ripples,  never 
wrinkles.  I  shall  cease  rippling  and  begin 


wrinkling.  No  matter  what  happens,  each  sum 
mer  the  birds  get  fresh  feathers ;  only  think  how 
my  old  ones  will  never  drop  out.  I  shall  want 
you  to  go  on  with  your  work.  If  I  am  to  be 
your  wife,  I  must  be  wings  to  you.  But  think 
of  compelling  me  to  furnish  you  the  wings  with 
which  to  leave  me  !  What  is  a  little  book  on 
Kentucky  birds  in  comparison  with  my  happi 
ness  !" 

She  was  so  deeply  moved  that  my  one  desire 
was  to  uproot  her  fears  on  the  spot. 

"  Then  there  shall  be  no  little  book  on  Ken 
tucky  birds  !"  I  cried.  "  I'll  throw  these  things 
into  the  fire  as  soon  as  1  go  home.  Only  say 
what  you  wish  me  to  be,  Georgiana,"  I  contin 
ued,  laughing,  "  and  I'll  be  it  —  if  it's  the  town 
pump." 

"  Then  if  I  could  only  be  the  town  well,"  she 
said,  with  a  poor  little  effort  to  make  a  heavy 
heart  all  at  once  go  merrily  again. 

Bent  on  making  it  go  merrily  as  long  as  I 


65 

shall  live,  the  following  day  I  called  out  to  her 
at  the  window  ^ 

"Georgiana,  I'm  improving.  I'm  getting 
along." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Well,  in  town  this  morning  they  chose  me 
as  one  of  the  judges  of  vegetables  at  the  fair 
next  month.  I  said, '  Gentlemen,  I  expect  to  be 
married  before  that  time,  and  I  do  not  intend  to 
be  separated  from  my  wife.  Will  she  have  the 
privilege  of  accompanying  me  among  these  com 
peting  vegetables  T  And  last  month  they  made 
me  director  of  a  turnpike  company — I  suppose 
because  it  runs  through  my  farm.  To-day  at  a 
meeting  of  the  directors  I  said,  t  Gentlemen, 
how  far  is  this  turnpike  to  run  ?  I  will  direct  it 
to  the  end  of  my  farm  and  not  a  step  far 
ther.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  separated  from  my 
wife.'  " 

Georgiana  has  teased  me  a  good  deal  in  my 
life.  It  is  well  to  let  a  woman  taste  of  the  tree 

5 


66 


of  knowledge  whose  fruit  she  is  fond  of  dis- 

O 

pensing. 

"  You'd  better  be  careful !"  she  said,  archly. 
"Remember,  I  haven't  married  you  yet." 

"  I  am  careful,"  I  replied.  "  I  haven't  mar 
ried  you  yet,  either  !  My  idea,  Georgiana,"  I 
continued,  "  is  to  plant  a  grove  and  raise  cocoons. 
That  would  gratify  my  love  of  nature  and  your 
fancy  for  silk  dresses.  I  could  have  my  silk 
woven  and  spun  in  our  manufactory  at  Newport, 
Kentucky ;  and  you  know  that  we  couldn't  pos 
sibly  lose  each  other  among  the  mulberry-trees." 

"  You'd  better  take  care !"  she  repeated. 
"  Do  you  expect  to  talk  to  me  in  this  style  af 
ter  we  are  married  ?" 

"  That  will  all  depend  upon  how  you  talk  to 
me,"  I  answered.  "  But  I  have  always  under 
stood  married  life  to  be  the  season  when  the 
worm  begins  to  turn." 

Despite  my  levity,  I  have  been  secretly 
stricken  with  remorse  at  the  monstrous  selfish- 


67 


ness  that  lay  coiled  like  a  canker  in  my  words. 
I  was  really  no  better  than  those  men  who  say 
to  their  wives : 

"  While  I  was  trying  to  win  you,  the  work  of 
my  life  was  secondary — you  were  everything. 
Now  that  I  have  won  you,  it  will  be  everything, 
and  you  must  not  stand  in  the  way." 

But  the  thought  is  insupportable  that  Georgi- 
ana  should  not  be  happy  with  me  at  any  cost. 
I  divine  now  the  reason  of  the  effort  she  has 
long  been  making  to  win  me  from  nature  ;  there 
fore  of  my  own  free  will  I  have  privately  set 
about  changing  the  character  of  my  life  with  the 
idea  of  suiting  it  to  some  other  work  in  which 
she  too  may  be  content.  And  thus  it  has  come 
about  that  during  the  August  now  ended  —  al 
ways  the  month  of  the  year  in  which  my  nature 
will  go  its  solitary  way  and  seek  its  woodland 
peace — I  have  hung  about  the  town  as  one  who 
is  offered  for  hire  to  a  master  whom  he  has 
never  seen  and  for  a  work  that  he  hates  to  do. 


68 


Many  of  the  affairs  that  engage  the  passions  of 
my  fellow-beings  are  to  me  as  the  gray  stubble 
through  which  I  walk  in  the  September  fields — 
the  rotting  wastage  of  harvests  long  since  gath 
ered  in.  At  other  times  I  drive  myself  upon 
their  sharp  and  piercing  conflicts  as  a  bird  is 
blown  uselessly  again  and  again  by  some  too 
strong  a  wind  upon  the  spikes  of  the  thorn.  I 
hear  the  angry  talk  of  our  farmers  and  mer 
chants,  I  listen  to  the  fiery  orations  of  our  states 
men  and  the  warning  sermons  of  our  divines. 
(Think  of  a  human  creature  calling  himself  a  di 
vine.)  The  troubled  ebb  and  flow  of  events  in 
Kentucky,  the  larger  movements  of  unrest 
throughout  the  great  republic — these  have  re 
placed  for  me  the  old  communings  with  nature 
that  were  full  of  music  and  of  peace. 

Evening  after  evening  now  I  turn  my  conver 
sations  with  Georgiana  as  gayly  as  I  can  upon 
some  topic  of  the  time.  She  is  not  always 
pleased  with  what  I  style  my  researches  into  civ- 


69 


ilized  society.  One  evening  in  particular  our 
talk  was  long  and  serious,  beginning  in  shallows 
and  then  steering  for  deep  waters. 

"  Well,  Georgiana,"  I  had  said,  "  Miss  Delia 
Webster  has  suddenly  returned  to  her  home  in 
Vermont." 

"  And  who  is  Miss  Delia  Webster  ?"  she  had 
inquired,  with  unmistakable  acidity. 

"Miss  Delia  Webster  is 'the  lady  who  was 
sentenced  to  the  State  penitentiary  for  abduct 
ing  our  silly  old  servants  into  Ohio.  But  the 
jury  of  Kentucky  noblemen  who  returned  the 
verdict — being  married  men,  and  long  used  to 
forgiving  a  woman  anything  —  petitioned  the 
governor  to  pardon  Miss  Delia  on  the  ground 
that  she  belongs  to  the  sex  that  can  do  no 
wrong — and  be  punished  for  it.  Whereupon 
the  governor,  seasoned  to  the  like  large  ex 
perience,  pardoned  the  lady.  Whereupon  Miss 
Webster,  having  passed  a  few  weeks  in  the 
penitentiary,  left,  as  I  stated,  for  her  home  in 


70 


Vermont,  followed  by  her  father,  who  does  not, 
however,  seem  to  have  been  able  to  overtake 
her." 

"If  she'd  been  a  man,  now,"  suggested  Geor- 
giana. 

"  If  she'd  been  a  man  she  would  have  shared 
the  fortunes  of  her  principal,  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Fairbanks,  who  has  not  returned  to  his  home  in 
Ohio,  and  will  not — for  fifteen  years." 

"  Do  you  think  it  an  agreeable  subject  of 
conversation  ?"  inquired  Georgiana. 

"  Then  I  will  change  it,"  I  said.  "  The  other 
day  the  editor  of  the  Smithland  Bee  was  walk 
ing  along  the  street  with  his  little  daughter  and 
was  shot  down  by  a  doctor." 

"  Horrible !"  exclaimed  Georgiana.     "  Why  ?" 

"  Self-defence,"  I  answered.  "  And  last  week 
in  the  court-room  in  Mount  Sterling  a  man  was 
shot  by  his  brother-in-law  during  the  sitting  of 
court." 

"  And  why  did  he  kill  him?" 


71 

"  Self-defence  !"  I  answered.  "  And  in  Ver 
sailles  a  man  down  in  the  street  was  assassi 
nated  with  a  rifle  fired  from  the  garret  of  a  tav 
ern.  Self-defence.  And  in  Lexington  a  young 
man  shot  and  killed  another  for  drawing  his 
handkerchief  from  his  pocket.  Self-defence  ! — 
the  sense  of  the  court  being  that  whatever  such 
an  action  might  mean  in  other  civilized  coun 
tries,  in  Kentucky  and  under  the  circumstances 
— the  young  fellows  were  quarrelling — it  natu 
rally  betokened  the  reaching  for  a  revolver. 
Thus  in  Kentucky,  Georgiana,  and  during  a 
heated  discussion,  a  man  cannot  blow  his  nose 
but  at  the  risk  of  his  life." 

"  I'll  see  that  you  never  carry  a  handkerchief," 
said  Georgiana.  "  So  remember — don't  you  ever 
reach  for  one  !" 

"  And  the  other  day  in  Eddysville,"  I  went 
on,  "  two  men' fought  a  duel  by  going  to  a  doc 
tors  shop  and  having  him  open  a  vein  in  the 
arm  of  each.  Just  before  they  fainted  from 


exhaustion  they  made  signs  that  their  honor 
was  satisfied,  so  the  doctor  tied  up  the  veins. 
I  see  that  you  don't  believe  it,  but  it's  true." 

"And  why  did  they  fight  a  duel  in  that 
way  ?" 

"  I  give  it  up,"  I  said,  "  unless  it  was  in  self- 
defence.  We  are  a  most  remarkable  society  of 
self-defenders.  But  if  every  man  who  fights  in 
Kentucky  is  merely  engaged  in  warding  off  a 
murderous  attack  upon  his  life,  who  does  all 
the  murderous  attacking  ?  You  know  the  seal 
of  our  commonwealth :  two  gentlemen  in  even 
ing  dress  shaking  hands  and  with  one  voice  de 
claring,  <  United  we  stand,  divided  we  fall.'  So 
far  as  the  temper  of  our  time  goes,  these  two 
gentlemen  might  well  be  represented  as  twenty 
paces  apart,  and  as  calling  out,  <  United,  we 
stood  ;  divided,  you  fall !'  Killings  and  duels  ! 
Killings  and  duels  !  Do  you  think  we  need 
these  as  proofs  of  courage  ?  Do  you  suppose  that 
the  Kentuckians  of  our  day  are  braver  than  the 


pioneers  ?  Do  you  suppose  that  any  people 
ever  elevated  its  ideal  of  courage  in  the  eyes 
of  the  world  by  all  the  homicides  and  all  the 
duels  that  it  could  count?  There  is  only  one 
way  in  which  any  civilized  people  has  ever  done 
that,  there  is  only  one  way  in  which  any  civil 
ized  people  has  ever  been  able  to  impress  the 
world  very  deeply  with  a  belief  in  the  reality 
and  the  nobility  of  its  ideal  of  courage  :  it  is  by 
the  warlike  spirit  of  its  men  in  times  of  war, 
and  by  the  peaceful  spirit  of  its  men  in  times  of 
peace.  Only,  you  must  add  this :  that  when 
these  times  of  peace  have  come  on,  and  it  is  no 
longer  possible  for  such  a  people  to  realize  its 
ideal  of  courage  in  arms,  it  is  nevertheless  driven 
to  express  the  ideal  in  other  ways — by  monu 
ments,  arches,  inscriptions,  statues,  literature, 
pictures,  all  in  honor  of  those  of  their  country 
men  who  lived  the  ideal  before  the  world  and 
left  it  more  lustrous  in  their  dying.  That  is  the 
full  reason  why  we  know  how  brave  a  people 


74 


the  Greeks  were — by  their  peaceful  ways  of  hon 
oring  valor  in  times  of  peace.  And  that  in 
part  is  why  no  nation  in  the  world  doubts  the 
courage  of  the  English,  because  when  the  Eng 
lish  are  not  fighting  they  are  forever  doing 
something  to  honor  those  who  have  fought  well. 
So  that  they  never  have  a  peace  but  they  turn 
it  into  preparation  for  the  next  war. 

"  And  that  is  why,  as  the  outside  world  looks 
in  upon  us  to-day  and  sifts  the  evidence  of 
whether  or  not  we  are  a  brave  people,  it  does 
not  find  the  proof  of  this  in  our  homicides  and 
duels,  but  in  the  spirit  of  our  forefathers  of  the 
Revolution,  in  the  soldiers  of  the  wilderness 
and  of  Indian  warfare,  of  the  war  of  1812,  of 
the  war  with  Mexico,  at  Cerro  Gordo,  at  Buena 
Vista,  at  Palo  Alto,  at  Resaca  de  la  Palma. 
Wherever  the  Kentuckiaris  have  fought  as  sol 
diers,  many  or  few,  on  whatever  battle-field,  in 
whatsoever  cause,  there  you  may  see  whether 
they  know  what  it  is  to  be  men,  and  whether 


75 


they  have  an  ideal  of  courage  that  is  worth  the 
name. 

"  Then  a  few  years  ago  in  Frankfort  twenty 
thousand  people  followed  to  the  grave  the  bod 
ies  of  the  men  who  had  fallen  in  Mexico.  The 
State  has  raised  a  monument  to  them,  to  the 
soldiers  of  1812,  to  those  who  fought  at  the 
river  Raisin.  The  Legislature  has  ordered  a 
medal  to  be  struck  in  honor  of  a  boy  who  had 
defended  his  ensign.  No  man  can  make  a  pub 
lic  speech  in  Kentucky  without  mention  of  En- 
cancion  and  Monterey,  or  of  the  long  line  of 
battles  in  which  every  generation  of  our  people 
has  fought.  This  is  the  other  proof  that  in 
times  of  peace  we  do  not  forget.  It  is  not  much, 
but  it  is  of  the  right  kind — it  is  the  soldier's 
monument,  it  is  the  soldier's  medal,  it  is  the 
soldier's  funeral  oration,  it  is  the  recognition  by 
the  people  of  its  ideal  of  courage  in  times  of 
peace.  And  with  every  other  brave  people  this 
proof  passes  as  the  sign  universal.  But  our 


homicides  and  our  duels,  nearly  all  of  them 
brought  about  in  the  name — even  under  the 
fear — of  courage,  what  effect  have  they  had  in 
giving  us  abroad  our  reputation  as  a  communi 
ty  ?  I  ask  myself  the  question,  what  if  all  the 
men  who  have  killed  their  personal  enemies  or 
been  killed  by  them  in  Kentucky,  and  if  all  the 
men  who  have  killed  their  personal  friends  or 
been  killed  by  them  in  Kentucky,  had  spent 
their  love  of  fighting  and  their  love  of  courage 
upon  a  monument  to  the  Pioneers — such  a  mon 
ument  as  stands  nowhere  else  in  the  world,  and 
might  fitly  stand  in  this  State  to  commemorate 
the  winning  of  the  West?  Would  the  world 
think  the  better  or  the  worse  of  the  Kentucky 
ideal  of  bravery  ? 

"  I  had  not  meant  to  talk  to  you  so  long  on 
this  subject,"  I  added,  in  apology,  "  but  I  have 
been  thinking  of  these  things  lately  since  I  have 
been  so  much  in  town." 

"  I  am  interested,"  said  Georgiana  ;  "  but  as 


77 


I  agree  with  you  we  need  not  both  speak."  But 
she  looked  pained,  and  I  sought  to  give  a  hap 
pier  turn  to  the  conversation. 

"There  is  only  one  duel  I  ever  heard  of  that 
gave  me  any  pleasure,  and  that  one  never  came 
off.  A  few  years  ago  a  Kentuckian  wrote  a  po 
litical  satire  on  an  Irishman  in  Illinois — wrote  it 
as  a  widow.  The  Irishman  wished  to  fight.  The 
widow  offered  to  marry  the  Irishman,  if  such  a 
sacrifice  would  be  accepted  as  satisfactory  dam 
ages.  The  Irishman  sent  a  challenge,  and  the 
Kentuckian  chose  cavalry  broadswords  of  the 
largest  size.  He  was  a  giant ;  he  had  the  long 
est  arms  of  any  man  in  Illinois ;  he  could  have 
mowed  Erin  down  at  a  stroke  like  a  green  milk 
weed  ;  he  had  been  trained  in  duelling  with 
oak-trees.  You  never  heard  of  him  :  his  name 
is  Abraham  Lincoln." 

"  I  have  heard  of  him,  and  I  have  seen  him — 
in  Union  County  before  I  came  here,"  said  Geor- 
giana,  with  enthusiasm. 


78 


"  He  came  here  once  to  hear  Mr.  Clay  speak," 
I  resumed ;  "  and  I  saw  them  walking  together 
one  day  under  the  trees  at  Ashland — the  two 
most  remarkable-looking  men  that  I  ever  beheld 
together  or  in  human  form." 

My  few  acres  touch  the  many  of  the  great 
statesman.  Georgiana  and  I  often  hear  of  the 
movements  of  his  life,  as  two  little  boats  in  a 
quiet  bay  are  tossed  by  the  storms  of  the  ocean. 
Any  reference  to  him  always  makes  us  thought 
ful,  and  we  fell  silent  now. 

"  Georgiana,"  I  said  at  length,  softly.  "  It's 
all  in  self-defence.  I  believe  you  promised  to 
marry  me  in  self-defence." 

"  I  did  !"  she  said,  promptly. 

"  "Well,  I  certainly  asked  you  in  self-defence, 
Miss  Cobb,"  I  replied.  "  And  now  in  a  few 
days,  according  to  the  usage  of  my  time,  I  am 
going  to  take  your  life — even  at  the  peril  of  my 
own.  If  you  desire,  it  is  your  privilege  to  ex 
amine  the  deadly  weapons  before  the  hour  of 


79 


actual  combat,"  and  I  held  out  my  arms  to  her 
appealingly. 

She  bent  her  body  delicately  aside,  as  always. 

"  I  am  upset,"  she  said,  discouragingly.  "  You 
have  been  abusing  Kentucky." 

"  Ah,  that  is  the  trouble  !"  I  answered.  "  You 
wish  me  to  become  more  interested  in  my  fel 
low-creatures.  And  then  you  will  not  let  me 
speak  of  what  they  do.  And  the  other  day  you 
told  me  that  I  am  not  perfectly  natural  with 
anything  but  nature.  Nature  is  the  only  thing 
that  is  perfectly  natural  with  me.  When  I  study 
nature  there  are  no  delicate  or  dangerous  or 
forbidden  subjects.  The  trees  have  no  evasions. 
The  weeds  are  honest.  Running  water  is  not 
trying  to  escape.  The  sunsets  are  not  colored 
with  hypocrisy.  The  lightning  is  not  revenge. 
Everything  stands  forth  in  the  sincerity  of  its 
being,  and  nature  invites  me  to  exercise  the  ab 
solute  liberty  of  my  mind  upon  all  life.  I  am 
bidden  to  master  and  proclaim  whatsoever  truth 


80 


she  has  fitted  me  to  grasp.  If  I  am  worthy  to 
investigate,  none  are  offended ;  if  I  should  be 
wise  enough  to  discover  any  law  of  creation,  the 
entire  world  would  express  its  thanks.  Imagine 
my  being  assassinated  because  I  had  published 
a  complete  report  upon  the  life  and  habits  of 
the  field-mouse !" 

"  If  one  mouse  published  a  report  on  the  life 
and  habits  of  another,  there'd  be  a  fight  all  over 
the  field,"  said  Georgiana. 

"  A  ridiculous  extreme,"  I  replied.  "  But 
after  you  have  grown  used  to  study  nature  with 
absolute  freedom  and  absolute  peace,  think  how 
human  life  repels  you.  You  may  not  investi 
gate,  you  may  not  speak  out,  you  may  not  even 
think,  you  may  not  even  feel.  You  are  not 
allowed  to  reveal  what  is  concealed,  and  you 
are  required  to  conceal  what  is  revealed.  Nat 
ural  !  Have  you  ever  known  any  two  men  to  be 
perfectly  natural  with  each  other  except  when 
they  were  fighting?  As  for  the  men  that  I  as- 


81 


sociate  with  every  day,  they  weigh  their  words 
out  to  one  another  as  the  apothecary  weighs  his 
poisons,  or  the  grocer  his  gunpowder." 

"  You  forget,"  said  Georgiana,  "  that  we  are 
living  in  a  very  extraordinary  time,  when  every 
body  is  sensitive  and  excited." 

"  It  is  so  always  and  everywhere,"  I  replied. 
"  You  may  never  study  life  as  you  study  nature. 
With  men  you  must  take  your  choice :  liberty 
for  your  mind  and  a  prison  for  your  body ;  lib 
erty  for  your  body  and  a  prison  for  your  mind. 
Nearly  all  people  choose  the  latter ;  we  know 
what  becomes  of  the  few  who  do  not." 

But  this  reference  to  the  times  led  us  to  speak 
slowly  and  solemnly  of  what  all  men  now  are 
speaking — war  that  must  come  between  the 
North  and  the  South.  We  agreed  that  it  would 
come  from  each  side  as  a  blazing  torch  to  Ken 
tucky,  which  lies  between  the  two  and  is  di 
vided  between  the  two  in  love  and  hate — to 
Kentucky,  where  the  ideal  of  a  soldier's  life  is 


82 


always  the  ideal  of  a  man's  duty  and  utmost 
glory. 

At  last  I  felt  that  my  time  had  come. 

"  Georgiana,"  I  said,  "  there  is  one  secret  I 
have  never  shared  with  you.  It  is  the  only 
fear  I  have  ever  felt  regarding  our  future.  But, 
if  there  should  be  a  war — you'd  better  know 
it  now — leave  you  or  not  leave  you,  I  am  going 
to  join  the  army." 

She  grew  white  and  faint  with  the  thought 
of  a  day  to  come.  Bat  at  last  she  said : 

"  Yes  ;  you  must  go." 

"  I  know  one  thing,"  I  added,  after  a  long 
silence  ;  "  if  I  could  do  my  whole  duty  as  a  Ken- 
tuckian — as  an  American  citizen — as  a  human 
being — I  should  have  to  fight  on  both  sides." 

I  have  thus  set  down  in  a  poor  way  a  part  of 
the  only  talk  I  ever  had  with  Georgiana  on  these 
subjects  during  the  year  1851. 

Yesterday,  about  sunset,  the  earth  and  sky 


83 


were  beautiful  with  that  fulness  of  peace  which 
things  often  attain  at  the  moment  before  they 
alter  and  end.  The  hour  seemed  to  me  the  last 
serene  loveliness  of  summer,  soon  to  be  ruffled 
by  gales  and  blackened  by  frosts. 

Georgiana  stood  at  her  window  looking  into 
the  west.  The  shadows  of  the  trees  in  my  yard 
fell  longer  and  longer  across  the  garden  towards 
her.  Darkest  among  these  lay  the  shapes  of 
the  cedars  and  the  pines  in  which  the  redbird 
had  lived.  Her  whole  attitude  bespoke  a  mood 
surrendered  to  memory  ;  and  I  felt  sure  that  we 
two  were  thinking  of  the  same  thing. 

As  she  has  approached  that  mystical  revela 
tion  of  life  which  must  come  with  our  marriage, 

O      ' 

Georgiana's  gayety  has  grown  subtly  overcast. 
It  is  as  if  the  wild  strain  in  her  were  a  little  sad 
at  having  to  be  captured  at  last ;  and  I  too  experi 
ence  an  indefinable  pain  that  it  has  become  my 
lot  to  subdue  her  in  this  way.  The  thought 
possesses  me  that  she  submits  to  marriage  be- 


84 


cause  she  cannot  live  intimately  with  me  and 
lavish  her  love  upon  me  in  any  other  relation ; 
and  therefore  I  draw  back  with  awe  from  the 
idea  of  taking  such  possession  of  her  as  I  will 
and  must. 

As  she  stood  at  her  window  yesterday  even 
ing  she  caught  sight  of  me  across  the  yard  and 
silently  beckoned.  I  went  over  and  looked  up 
at  her,  waiting  and  smiling. 

"  Well,  what  is  it?"  I  asked  at  length,  as  her 
eyes  rested  on  me  with  the  fulness  of  affection. 

"  Nothing.  I  wanted  to  see  you  standing 
down  there  once  more.  Haven't  you  thought 
of  it?  This  is  the  last  time — the  last  of  the 
window,  the  last  of  the  garden,  the  end  of  the 
past.  Everything  after  this  will  be  so  different. 
Aren't  you  a  little  sorry  that  you  are  going  to 
marry  me  ?" 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  fetch  the  minister 
this  instant  ?" 

In  the  evening  they  put  on  her  bridal  dress 


85 


and  sent  over  for  me,  and,  drawing  the  parlor 
doors  aside,  blinded  me  with  the  sight  of  her 
standing  in  there,  as  if  waiting  in  duty  for  love 
to  claim  its  own.  As  I  saw  her  then  I  have 
but  to  close  my  eyes  to  see  her  now.  I  scarce 
know  why,  but  that  vision  of  her  haunts  my 
mind  mysteriously. 

I  see  a  fresh  snow-drift  in  a  secret  green  valley 
between  dark  mountains.  The  sun  must  travel 
far  and  be  risen  high  to  reach  it ;  but  when  it 
does,  its  rays  pour  down  from  near  the  zenith 
and  are  most  powerful  and  warm ;  then  in  a  lit 
tle  while  the  whole  valley  is  green  again  and  a 
white  mist,  rising  from  it,  muffles  the  face  of  the 
sun. 

Oh,  Georgiana  !  Georgiana  !  Do  not  fade 
away  from  me  as  I  draw  you  to  me. 

My  last  solitary  candle  flickers  in  the  socket: 
it  is  in  truth  the  end  of  the  past. 


IV 

LAST  summer  I  felled  a  dead  oak  in  the  woods 
and  had  the  heart  of  him  stored  away  for  my 
winter  fuel:  a  series  of  burnt-offerings  to  the 
worshipful  spirit  of  my  hearth-stone.  There 
should  have  been  several  of  these  offerings  al 
ready,  for  October  is  almost  ended  now,  and 
it  is  the  month  during  which  the  first  cool 
nights  come  on  in  Kentucky  and  the  first  fires 
are  lighted. 

A  few  twilights  ago  I  stood  at  my  yard  gate 
watching  the  red  domes  of  the  forest  fade  into 
shadow  and  listening  to  the  cawing  of  crows 
under  the  low  gray  of  the  sky  as  they  hurried 
home.  A  chill  crept  over  the  earth.  It  was  a 
fitting  hour ;  I  turned  in-doors  and  summoned 
Georgiana. 


87 

"  We  will  light  our  first  fire  together,"  I  said, 
straining  her  to  my  heart. 

Kneeling  gayly  down,  we  piled  the  wood  in 
the  deep,  wide  chimney.  Each  of  us  then 
brought  a  live  coal,  and  together  we  started  the 
blaze.  I  had  drawn  Georgiana's  chair  to  one 
side  of  the  fireplace,  mine  opposite  ;  and  with 
the  candles  still  unlit  we  now  sat  silently  watch 
ing  the  flame  spread.  What  need  was  there  of 
speech  ?  We  understood. 

By-and-by  some  broken  wreaths  of  smoke 
floated  outward  into  the  room.  My  sense  caught 
the  fragrance.  I  sniffed  it  with  a  rush  of  mem 
ories.  Always  that  smell  of  smoke,  with  other 
wild,  clean,  pungent  odors  of  the  woods,  had 
been  strangely  pleasant  to  me.  I  remember 
thinking  of  them  when  a  boy  as  incense  perpet 
ually  and  reverently  set  free  by  nature  towards 
the  temple  of  the  skies.  They  aroused  in  me 
even  then  the  spirit  of  meditation  on  the  mys 
tery  of  the  world  p and  later  they  became  in- 


88 


wrought  with  the  pursuit  and  enjoyment  of 
things  that  had  been  the  delight  of  my  life  for 
many  years.  So  that  coming  now,  at  the  very 
moment  when  I  was  dedicating  myself  to  my 
hearth-stone  and  to  domestic  life,  this  smell  of 
wood  smoke  reached  me  like  a  message  from 
my  past.  For  an  instant  ungovernable  longings 
surged  over  me  to  return  to  it.  For  an  instant 
I  did  return  ;  and  once  more  I  lay  drowsing  be 
fore  my  old  camp-fires  in  the  autumn  woods,  with 
the  frosted  trees  draping  their  crimson  curtains 
around  me  on  the  walls  of  space  and  the  stars 
flashing  thick  in  the  ceiling  of  my  bedchamber. 

My  dog,  who  had  stretched  himself  at  my  feet 
before  the  young  blaze,  inhaled  the  smoke  also 
with  a  full  breath  of  reminiscence,  and  lay  watch 
ing  me  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye — I  fancied 
with  reproachful  constancy  I  caught  his  look 
with  a  sense  of  guilt,  and  glanced  across  at 
Georgiana. 

Her  gaze  was  buried  deep  in  the  flames.  And 


how  sweet  her  face  was,  how  inexpressibly  at 
peace.  She  had  folded  the  wings  of  her  whole 
life,  and  sat  by  the  hearth  as  still  as  a  brooding 
dove.  No  past  laid  its  disturbing  touch  upon 
her  shoulder.  Instead,  I  could  see  that  if  there 
were  any  flight  of  her  mind  away  from  the  pres 
ent  it  was  into  the  future  —  a  slow,  tranquil 
flight  across  the  years,  with  all  the  happiness 
that  they  must  bring.  As  I  set  my  own  thoughts 
to  journey  after  hers,  suddenly  the  scene  in  the 
room  changed,  and  I  beheld  Georgiana  as  an  old, 
old  lady,  with  locks  of  silver  on  her  temples, 
spectacles,  a  tiny  sock  stuck  through  with  nee 
dles  on  her  knee,  and  her  face  finely  wrinkled, 
but  still  blooming  with  unconquerable  gayety 
and  youth. 

"  How  sweet  that  smoke  is,  Georgiana,"  I 
said,  rousing  us  both,  and  feeling  sure  that  she 
will  understand  me  in  whatsoever  figure  I  may 
speak.  "  And  how  much  we  are  wasting  when 
we  change  this  old  oak  back  into  his  elements — 


90 


smoke  and  light,  heat  and  ashes.  What  a  mag 
nificent  work  he  was  on  natural  history,  re 
quiring  hundreds  of  years  for  his  preparation 
and  completion,  written  in  a  language  so  learned 
that  not  the  wisest  can  read  him  wisely,  and 
enduringly  bound  in  the  finest  of  tree  calf  !  It 
is  a  dishonor  to  speak  of  him  as  a  work.  He 
was  a  doctor  of  philosophy  !  He  should  have 
been  a  college  professor  !  Think  how  he  could 
have  used  his  own  feet  for  a  series  of  lectures  on 
the  laws  of  equilibrium,  capillary  attraction,  or 
soils  and  moisture  !  Was  there  ever  a  head  that 
knew  as  much  as  his  about  the  action  of  light  ? 
Did  any  human  being  ever  more  grandly  bear 
the  burdens  of  life  or  better  face  the  tempests 
of  the  world?  What  did  he  not  know  about 
birds  ?  He  had  carried  them  in  his  arms  and 
nurtured  them  in  his  bosom  for  a  thousand 
years.  Even  his  old  coat,  with  all  its  rents  and 
patches — what  roll  of  papyrus  was  ever  so 
crowded  with  the  secrets  of  knowledge  ?  The 


91 


august  antiquarian  !  The  old  king  !  Can  you 
imagine  a  funeral  nrn  too  noble  for  his  ashes  ? 
But  to  what  base  uses,  Georgiana !  He  will  not 
keep  the  wind  away  any  longer ;  we  shall 
change  him  into  a  kettle  of  lye  with  which  to 
whiten  our  floors." 

What  Georgiana's  reply  could  have  been  I  do 
not  know,  for  at  that  moment  Mrs.  Walters 
flitted  in. 

"  I  saw  through  the  windows  that  you  had  a 
fire,"  she  said,  volubly,  "  and  ran  over  to  get 
warm.  And,  oh  !  yes,  I  wanted  to  tell  you — " 

"  Stop,  please,  Mrs.  Walters  !"  I  cried,  start 
ing  towards  her  with  an  outstretched  hand  and 
a  warning  laugh.  "  You  have  not  yet  been  for 
mally  introduced  to  this  room,  and  a  formal  in 
troduction  is  necessary.  You  must  be  made  ac 
quainted  with  the  primary  law  of  its  being  ;"  and 
as  Mrs.  Walters  paused,  dropping  her  hands 
into  her  lap  and  regarding  me  with  an  air  of  mys 
tification,  I  went  on  : 


92 


'•  When  I  had  repairs  made  in  my  house  last 
summer,  I  had  this  fireplace  rebuilt,  and  I  ordered 
an  inscription  to  be  burnt  into  the  bricks.  We 
expect  to  ask  that  all  our  guests  will  kindly  no 
tice  this  inscription,  in  order  to  avoid  accidents 
or  misunderstandings.  So  I  beg  of  you  not  to 
speak  until  you  have  read  the  words  over  the 
fireplace." 

Mrs.  Walters  wonderingly  read  the  following 
legend,  running  in  an  arch  across  the  chimney  : 


franJr,  arnttiA  tjjrn  jpartJHtonM 

tin  nil  miirft  of  nnq  maim* 


She  wheeled  towards  me  with  instantaneous 
triumph. 

"  I'm  glad  you  put  it  there  !"  she  cried.  "  I'm 
glad  you  put  it  there  !  It  will  teach  them  a 
lesson  about  their  talking.  If  there  is  one  thing 
I  cannot  stand  it  is  a  gossip." 


93 


I  have  observed  that  a  fowl  before  a  looking- 
glass  will  fight  its  own  image. 

"Take  care,  Mrs.  Walters!"  I  said,  gently. 
"  You  came  very  near  to  violating  the  law  just 
then." 

"He  meant  it  for  me,  Mrs.  Walters,"  said 
Georgiana,  fondling  our  neighbor's  hand,  and 
looking  at  me  with  an  awful  rebuke. 

"I  meant  it  for  myself,"  I  said.  "  And  now 
it  is  doing  its  best  to  make  me  feel  like  a  Phari 
see.  So  I  hasten  to  add  that  there  are  other 
rooms  in  the  house  in  which  it  will  be  allowed 
human  nature  to  assert  itself  in  this  long-estab 
lished,  hereditary,  and  ineradicable  right.  Our 
guests  have  only  to  intimate  that  they  can  no 
longer  restrain  their  propensities  and  we  will 
conduct  them  to  another  chamber.  Mrs.  Moss 
and  I  will  occasionally  make  use  of  these  cham 
bers  ourselves,  to  relieve  the  tension  of  too  much 
virtue.  But  it  is  seriously  our  idea  to  have  one 
room  in  the  house  where  we  shall  feel  safe, 


94 


both  as  respects  ourselves  and  as  respects  others, 
from  the  discomfort  of  evil-speaking.  As  long 
as  these  walls  stand  or  we  dwell  in  them,  this 
is  to  be  the  room  of  charity  and  kindness  to  all 
creatures." 

Although  we  exerted  ourselves,  conversation 
flagged  during  the  visit  of  Mrs.  Walters.  Sev 
eral  times  she  began  to  speak,  but,  with  a  fright 
ened  look  at  the  fireplace,  dropped  into  a  cough, 
or  cleared  her  throat  in  a  way  that  called  to 
mind  the  pleasing  habit  of  Sir  Roger  de  Cov- 
erly  in  the  Gardens  of  Gray's  Inn. 

Later  in  the  evening  other  guests  came. 
Upon  each  the  law  of  that  fireside  was  lightly 
yet  gravely  impressed.  They  were  in  the  main 
the  few  friends  I  know  in  whom  such  an  out 
ward  check  would  call  for  the  least  inner  re 
straint  ;  nevertheless,  on  what  a  footing  of  con 
fidence  it  placed  our  conversation  !  To  what  a 
commanding  level  we  were  safely  lifted !  For 
nothing  so  releases  the  best  powers  of  the  mind 


95 


as  the  understanding  that  the  entire  company 
are  under  bond  to  keep  the  peace  of  the  finest 
manners  and  of  perfect  breeding. 

And  Georgiana  —  how  she  shone  !  I  knew 
that  she  could  perfectly  fill  a  window ;  I  now 
see  that  she  can  as  easily  fill  a  room.  Our 
bodies  were  grouped  about  the  fireplace ;  our 
minds  centred  around  her,  and  she  flashed  like 
the  evening  star  along  our  intellectual  path 
way. 

The  next  day  Mrs.  Walters  talked  a  long  time 
to  Georgiana  on  the  edge  of  the  porch. 

Thus  my  wife  and  I  have  begun  life  together. 
I  think  that  most  of  our  evenings  will  be  spent 
in  the  room  dedicated  to  a  kind  word  for  life 
universal.  No  matter  how  closely  the  warring 
forces  of  existence,  within  or  without,  have 
pressed  upon  us  elsewhere,  when  we  enter  there 
we  enter  peace.  We  shall  be  walled  in  from 
all  darkness  of  whatsoever  meaning ;  our  better 


96 


selves  will  be  the  sole  guests  of  those  luminous 
hours.  And  surely  no  greater  good-fortune  can 
befall  any  household  than  to  escape  an  ignoble 
evening.  To  attain  a  noble  one  is  like  lying 
calmly  down  to  sleep  on  a  mountain-top  tow 
ards  which  our  feet  have  struggled  upward  amid 
enemies  all  day  long. 

Although  we  have  now  been  two  months  mar 
ried,  I  have  not  yet  captured  the  old  uncaptura- 
ble  loveliness  of  nature  which  has  always  led 
me  and  still  leads  me  on  in  the  person  of  Geor- 
giana.  I  know  but  too  well  now  that  I  never 
shall.  The  charm  in  her  which  I  pursue,  yet 
never  overtake,  is  part  and  parcel  of  that  un- 
graspable  beauty  of  the  world  which  forever 
foils  the  sense  while  it  sways  the  spirit — of  that 
elusive,  infinite  splendor  of  God  which  flows 
from  afar  into  all  terrestrial  things,  filling  them 
as  color  fills  the  rose.  Even  while  I  live  with 
Georgiana  in  the  closest  of  human  relationships, 
she  retains  for  me  the  uncomprehended  bright- 


97 


ness  and  freshness  of  a  dream  that  does  not  end 
and  has  no  waking. 

This  but  edges  yet  more  sharply  the  eager 
ness  of  my  desire  to  enfold  her  entire  self  into 
mine.  We  have  been  a  revelation  to  each  other, 
but  the  revelation  is  not  complete ;  there  are 
curtains  behind  curtains,  which  one  by  one  we 
seek  to  lift  as  we  penetrate  more  deeply  into 
the  discoveries  of  our  union.  Sometimes  she 
will  seek  me  out  and,  sitting  beside  me,  put 
her  arm  around  my  neck  and  look  long  into  my 
eyes,  full  of  a  sort  of  beautiful,  divine  wonder 
at  what  I  am,  at  what  love  is,  at  what  it  means 
for  a  man  arid  a  woman  to  live  together  as  we 
live.  Yet,  folded  to  me  thus,  she  also  craves  a 
still  larger  fulfilment.  Often  she  appears  to  be 
vainly  hovering  on  the  outside  of  a  too  solid 
sphere,  seeking  an  entrance  to  where  I  really 
am.  Even  during  the  intimate  silences  of  the 
night  we  try  to  reach  one  another  through  the 
throbbing  walls  of  flesh — we  but  cling  together 


98 


across  the  lone,  impassable  gulfs  of  individual 
being. 

During  these  October  nights  the  moon  has 
reached  its  fulness  and  the  earth  been  flooded 
with  beauty. 

Our  bed  is  placed  near  a  window  ;  and  as  the 
planet  sinks  across  the  sky  its  rays  stream 
through  the  open  shutter  and  fall  upon  Georgi- 
ana  in  her  sleep.  Sometimes  I  lie  awake  for  the 
sole  chance  of  seeing  them  float  upon  her  hair, 
pass  lingeringly  across  her  face,  and  steal  holily 
downward  along  her  figure.  How  august  she  is 
in  her  purity !  The  whiteness  of  the  fairest 
cloud  that  brushes  the  silvering  orb  is  as  pitch 
to  the  whiteness  of  her  nature. 

The  other  night  as  I  lay  watching  her  thus, 
and  while  the  lower  part  of  the  bed  remained  in 
deep  shadow,  I  could  see  that  the  thin  covering 
had  slipped  aside,  leaving  Georgiana's  feet  ex 
posed. 

With  a  start  of  pain  I  recollected  an  old  story 


99 


about  her  childhood :  that  one  day  for  the  sake 
of  her  rights  she  had  received  a  wound  in  one 
of  her  feet — how  serious  I  had  never  known,  but 
perhaps  deforming,  irremediable.  My  head  was 
raised  on  the  pillow  ;  the  moonlight  was  moving 
down  that  way  ;  it  would  cross  her  feet ;  it 
would  reveal  the  truth. 

I  turned  my  face  away  and  closed  my  eyes. 


IT  is  nearly  dark  when  I  reach  home  from 
town  these  January  evenings.  However  the 
cold  may  sting  the  face  and  dart  inward  to  the 
marrow,  Georgiana  is  waiting  at  the, yard  gate 
to  meet  me,  so  hooded  and  shawled  and  ringed 
about  with  petticoats — like  a  tree  within  its  lay 
ers  of  bark — that  she  looks  like  the  most  thick 
set  of  ordinary  -  sized  women  ;  for  there  is  a 
heavenly  but  very  human  secret  hiding  in  this 
household  now,  and  she  is  thoughtfully  keep 
ing  it. 

We  press  our  half-frozen  cheeks  together,  as 
red  as  wine-sap  apples,  and  grope  for  each 
other's  hand  through  our  big  lamb's-wool  mittens, 
and  warm  our  hearts  with  the  laughter  in  each 
other's  eyes.  One  evening  she  feigned  to  be 


.101- 


mounted  on  guard,  pacing  to  and  fro  inside  the 
<rate,  against  which  rested  an  enormous  icicle. 

o          /        o 

When  I  started  to  enter  she  seized  the  icicle, 
presented  arms,  and  demanded  the  countersign. 

"  Love,  captain,7'  I  said.  "  If  it  be  not  that, 
slay  me  at  your  feet !" 

She  threw  away  .her  great  white  spear  and 
put  her  arms  around  my  neck. 

"  It  is  '  Peace,'  "  she  said.  "  But  I  desert  to 
the  enemy." 

Without  going  to  my  fireside  that  evening  I 
hurried  on  to  the  stable  ;  for  I  do  not  relinquish 
to  my  servants  the  office  of  feeding  my  stock. 

Believe  in  the  divine  rights  of  kings  I  never 
shall,  except  in  the  divine  right  to  be  kingly 
men,  which  all  men  share ;  but  truly  a  divine 
right  lies  for  any  man  in  the  ownership  of  a 
comfortable  barn  in  winter.  It  is  the  feudal 
castle  of  the  farm  to  the  lower  animals,  who 
dwell  in  the  Dark  Ages  of  their  kind — dwell  on 
and  on  in  affection,  submission,  and  trust,  while 


their  lord  demands  of  them  their  labor,  their 
sustenance,  or  their  life. 

Of  a  winter's  day,  when  these  poor  dumb 
serfs  have  been  scattered  over  the  portionless 
earth,  how  often  they  look  towards  this  fortress 
and  lift  up  their  voices  with  cries  for  night  to 
come  ;  the  horses,  ruffled  and  shivering,  with  their 
tails  to  the  wind,  as  they  snap  their  frosted  fod 
der,  or  paw  through  the  rime  to  the  frozen  grass 
underneath,  causing  their  icy  fetlocks  to  rattle 
about  their  hoofs  ;  the  cattle,  crowded  to  lee 
ward  of  some  deep-buried  haystack,  the  exposed 
side  of  the  outermost  of  them  white  with  whirl 
ing  flakes  ;  the  sheep,  turning  their  pitiful,  trust 
ing  eyes  about  them  over  the  fields  of  storm  in 
earth  and  sky  ! 

What  joy  at  nightfall  to  gather  them  home  to 
food  and  warmth  and  rest !  If  there  is  ever  a 
time  when  I  feel  myself  a  mediaeval  lord  to 
trusty  vassals,  it  is  then.  Of  a  truth  I  pass  en 
tirely  over  the  Middle  Ages,  joining  my  life  to 


103 


the  most  ancient  dwellers  of  the  plains,  and  be 
coming  a  simple  father  of  flocks  and  herds. 
When  they  have  been  duly  stabled  according  to 
their  kinds,  I  climb  to  the  crib  in  the  barn  and 
create  a  great  landslide  of  the  fat  ears  that  is 
like  laughter ;  and  then  from  every  stall  what  a 
hearty,  healthy  chorus  of  cries  and  petitions  re 
sponds  to  that  laughter  of  the  corn !  What 
squeals  and  grunts  persuasive  beyond  the 
realms  of  rhetoric !  Wliat  a  blowing  of  mellow 
horns  from  the  cows !  And  the  quick  nostril 
trumpet-call  of  the  horse,  how  eager,  how  de 
pendent,  yet  how  commanding !  As  I  mount  to 
the  top  of  the  pile,  if  I  ever  feel  myself  a  royal 
personage  it  is  then  ;  I  ascend  my  throne  ;  I  am 
king  of  the  corn  ;  and  there  is  not  a  brute  peas 
ant  in  my  domain  that  does  not  worship  me  as 
ruler  of  heaven  and  earth. 

Or  I  love  to  catch  up  the  bundles  of  oats  as 
they  are  thrown  down  from  the  loft  and  send 
them  whirling  through  the  cutting-box  so  fast 


104 


that  they  pour  into  the  big  baskets  like  streams 
of  melted  gold  ;  or,  grasping  my  pitchfork,  I 
stuff  the  ricks  over  the  mangers  with  the  rich 
aromatic  hay  until  I  am  as  warm  as  when  I 
loaded  the  wagons  with  it  at  midsummer  noons. 

With  what  sweet  sounds  and  odors  now  the 
whole  barn  is  filled  !  How  robust,  clean,  well- 
meaning  are  my  thoughts !  In  what  comfort  of 
mind  I  can  turn  to  my  own  roof  and  store ! 

This  hour  in  my  stable  is  the  only  one  out  of 
the  twenty-four  left  to  me  in  which  my  feet  may 
cross  the  boundary  of  human  life  into  the  world 
of  the  other  creatures  ;  for  I  have  gone  into 
business  in  town  to  gratify  Georgiana.  I  think 
little  enough  of  this  business  otherwise.  Every 
day  I  pass  through  the  groove  of  it  with  no 
more  intellectual  satisfaction  in  it  than  I  feel 
an  intellectual  satisfaction  in  passing  my  legs 
through  my  pantaloons  of  a  morning.  But  a 
man  can  study  nothing  in  nature  that  does  not 
outreach  his  powers. 


105 


If  time  is  left,  I  veer  off  from  the  barn  to  the 
wood-pile,  for  I  love  to  wield  an  axe,  besides  hav 
ing  a  taste  to  cut  my  own  wood  for  the  nightly 
burning.  This  evening  I  could  but  stop  to  no 
tice  how  the  turkeys  in  the  tree  tops  looked  like 
enormous  black  nutgalls  on  the  limbs,  except 
that  the  wind  whisked  their  tails  about  as  cheer 
ily  as  though  they  were  already  hearth-brooms. 

It  is  well  for  my  poor  turkeys  that  their  tails 
contain  no  moisture  ;  for  on  a  night  like  this 
they  would  freeze  stiff,  and  the  least  incautious 
movement  of  a  fowl  in  the  morning  would  serv7e 
to  crack  its  tail  off — up  to  the  popeVnose. 

As  I  set  my  foot  on  the  door-step,  I  went  back 
to  see  whether  the  two  snow-birds  were  in  their 
nightly  places  under  the  roof  of  the  porch — the 
guardian  spirits  of  our  portal.  There  they  were, 
wedged  each  into  a  snug  corner  as  tightly  as 
possible,  so  not  to  break  their  feathers,  and 
leaving  but  one  side  exposed.  Happening  to  have 
some  wheat  in  my  pocket,  I  pitched  the  grains 


106 

up  to  the  projecting  ledge ;  they  can  take  their, 
breakfast  in  bed  when  they  wake  in  the  morn 
ing.  Little  philosophers  of  the  frost,  who  even 
in  their  overcoats  combine  the  dark  side  and  the 
white  side  of  life  into  a  wise  and  weathering 

o 

gray — the  no  less  fit  external  for  a  man. 

The  thought  of  them  to-night  put  me  strongly 
in  mind  of  a  former  habit  of  mine  to  walk  un 
der  the  cedar-trees  at  such  dark  winter  twilights 
and  listen  to  the  low  calls  of  the  birds  as  they 
gathered  in  and  settled  down.  I  have  no  time 
for  such  pleasant  ways  now,  they  have  been 
given  up  along  with  my  other  studies. 

This  winter  of  1851  and  1852  has  been  cold 
beyond  the  memory  of  man  in  Kentucky — the 
memory  of  the  white  man,  which  goes  back  some 
three-quarters  of  a  century.  Twice  the  Ohio  River 
has  been  frozen  over,  a  sight  he  had  never  seen. 
The  thermometer  has  fallen  to  thirty  degrees  be 
low  zero.  Unheard  of  snows  have  blocked  the 
two  or  three  railroads  we  have  in  the  State* 


107 


News  comes  that  people  are  walking  over  the 
ice  on  East  River,  New  York,  and  that  the  Mis 
sissippi  at  Memphis  bears  the  weight  of  a  man  a 
hundred  yards  from  the  bank. 

Behind  this  winter  lay  last  year's  spring  of 
rigors  hitherto  unknown,  destroying  orchards, 
vineyards,  countless  tender  trees  and  plants. 
It  set  everybody  to  talking  of  the  year  1834, 
when  such  a  frost  fell  that  to  this  day  it  is 
known  as  Black  Friday  in  Kentucky;  and  it 
gave  me  occasion  to  tell  Georgiana  a  story  my 
grandfather  had  told  me,  of  how  one  night  in 
the  wilderness  the  weather  grew  so  terrible  that 
the  wild  beasts  came  out  of  the  forests  to  shel 
ter  themselves  around  the  cabins  of  the  pioneers, 
and  how  he  was  awakened  by  them  fighting  and 
crowding  for  places  against  the  warm  walls  and 
chimney-corners.  If  he  had  but  opened  his 
door  and  crept  back  into  bed,  he  might  soon 
have  had  a  buffalo  on  one  side  of  his  fireplace 
and  a  bear  on  the  other,  with  a  wild-cat  asleep 


108 


on  the  hearth  between,  and  with  the  thin- 
skinned  deer  left  shivering  outside  as  truly  as 
if  they  had  all  been  human  beings. 

Such  a  spring,  with  its  destruction  of  seed- 
bearing  and  nut-bearing  vegetation,  followed  by 
a  winter  that  seals  under  ice  what  may  have 
been  produced,  has  spread  starvation  among  the 
wild  creatures.  A  recent  Sunday  afternoon 
walk  in  the  woods — Georgiana  being  away  from 
home  with  her  mother — showed  me  that  part 
of  the  earth's  surface  rolled  out  as  a  vast  white 
chart,  on  which  were  traced  the  desperate  trav 
els  of  the  snow-walkers  in  search  of  food.  Squir 
rel,  chipmunk,  rabbit,  weasel,  mouse,  mink,  fox 
— their  tracks  crossed  and  recrossed,  wound  in 
and  out  and  round  and  round,  making  an  intri 
cate  lace-work  beautiful  and  pitiful  to  behold. 
Crow  prints  ringed  every  corn-shock  in  the  field. 

At  the  base  of  one  I  picked  up  a  frozen  dove 

starved  at  the  brink  of  plenty.  Kabbit  tracks 
grew  thickest  as  I  entered  my  turnip  and  cab- 


109 


bage  patches,  converging  towards  my  house,  and 
coming  to  a  focus  at  a  group  of  snow-covered 
pyramids,  in  which  last  autumn,  as  usual,  I 
buried  my  vegetables.  I  told  Georgiana : 

"  They  are  attracted  by  the  leaves  that  Dilsy 
throws  away  when  she  gets  out  what  we  need. 
Think  of  it — a  whole  neighborhood  of  rabbits 
hurrying  here  after  dark  for  the  chance  of  a 
bare  nibble  at  a  possible  leaf."  Once  that  night 
I  turned  in  bed,  restless.  Georgiana  did  the 
same. 

"  Are  you  awake  ?"  she  said,  softly. 

"Are  you?" 

"Are  you  thinking  about  the  rabbits?" 

"  Yes  ;  are  you  ?" 

"  What  do  you  suppose  they  think  about  us?" 

"I'd  rather  not  know." 

Georgiana  tells  me  that  the  birds  in  unusual 
numbers  are  wintering  among  the  trees,  driven 
to  us  with  the  boldness  of  despair.  God  and 


110 


nature  have  forgotten  them  ;  they  have  nothing 
to  choose  between  but  death  and  man.  She 
has  taken  my  place  as  their  almoner  and  nightly 
renders  me  an  account  of  what  she  has  done. 
This  winter  gives  her  a  great  chance  and  sfye 
adorns  it.  It  seems  that  never  before  were  so 
many  redbirds  in  the  cedars ;  and  although  one 
subject  is  never  mentioned  between  us,  uncon 
sciously  she  dwells  upon  these  in  her  talk,  and 
plainly  favors  them  in  her  affection  for  the  sake 
of  the  past.  There  are  many  stories  I  could 
relate  to  show  how  simple  and  beautiful  is  this 
whole  aspect  of  her  nature. 

A  little  thing  happened  to-night. 

Towards  ten  o'clock  she  brought  my  hat, 
overcoat,  overshoes,  mittens,  comforter. 

"  Put  them  on,"  she  said,  mysteriously. 

She  also  got  ready,  separating  herself  from 
me  by  so  many  clothes  that  I  could  almost  have 
felt  myself  entitled  to  a  divorce. 

It  was  like  day  out-of-doors  with  the  moon 


Ill 


shining  on  the  snow.  We  crept  towards  the 
garden,  screened  behind  out-buildings.  When 
we  reached  the  fence,  we  looked  through  tow 
ards  the  white  pyramids.  All  that  part  of 
the  ground  was  alive  with  rabbits.  Georgiana 
had  spread  for  them  a  banquet  of  Lucullus,  a 
Belshazzar's  feast.  It  had  been  done  to  please 
me,  I  knew,  and  out  of  a  certain  playfulness  of 
her  own  ;  but  there  are  other  charities  of  hers, 
which  she  thinks  known  only  to  herself,  that 
show  as  well  the  divine  drift  of  her  thought- 
fulness. 

She  is  asleep  now — for  the  sake  of  the  Secret. 
After  she  had  gone  to  bed,  what  with  the  spec 
tacle  of  the  rabbits  and  what  with  our  talk  be 
forehand  of  the  many  cardinals  in  the  cedars, 
my  thoughts  began  to  run  freshly  on  old  sub 
jects,  and,  unlocking  my  bureau,  I  got  out  my 
notes  and  drawings  for  the  work  on  Kentucky 
birds.  Georgiana  does  not  know  that  they  ex 
ist  ;  she  never  shall.  With  what  authoritv  those 


112 


studies  call  me  still,  as  with  a  trumpet  from  the 
skies  !  and  I  know  that  trumpet  will  sound  on 
till  my  ears  are  past  hearing.  Sometimes  I  look 
upon  myself  as  a  man  who  has  had  two  hearts ; 
one  lies  buried  in  the  woods,  and  the  other  sits 
at  the  fireside  thinking  of  it.  But  sl£ep  on, 
Georgiana — mother  that  is  to  be.  The  dreams 
of  your  life  shall  never  be  disturbed  by  the  old 
dreams  of  mine. 


VI 


THE  population  of  this  town  on  yesterday  was 
seven  thousand  nine  hundred  and  twenty ;  to 
day  it  is  seven  thousand  nine  hundred  and-twen- 
iy-one.  The  inhabitants  of  the  globe  are  en 
riched  by  the  same  stupendous  unit ;  the  solar 
system  must  adjust  itself  to  new  laws  of  equi 
librium  ;  the  choir  of  angels  is  sweetened  by  the 
advent  of  another  musician.  During  the  night 
Georgiana  bore  a  son — not  during  the  night, 
but  at  dawn,  and  amid  such  singing  of  birds  that 
every  tree  in  the  yard  became  a  dew-hung  belfry 
of  chimes,  ringing  a  welcome  to  the  heir  of  this 
old  house  and  of  these  old  trees — to  the  dispenser 
of  seed  during  winters  to  come — to  the  propri 
etor  of  a  whole  race  of  seed-scatterers  as  long  as 
nature  shall  be  harsh  and  seasons  shall  return. 


114 


I  had  already  bought  the  largest  family  Bible 
in  the  town  as  a  repository  for  his  name,  Adam 
Cobb  Moss,  which  in  clear  euphony  is  most  fit 
to  be  enrolled  among  the  sweetly  sounding  vo 
cables  of  the  Hebrew  children.  The  page  for 
the  registration  of  later  births  in  my  family  is 
so  large  and  the  lines  ruled  across  it  are  so 
many  that  I  am  deeply  mortified  over  this  soli 
tary  entry  at  the  top.  But  surely  Georgiana 
and  I  would  have  to  live  far  past  the  ages  of 
Abraham  and  Sarah  to  fill  it  with  the  requisite 
wealth  of  offspring,  beginning  as  we  do,  and 
being  without  divine  assistance.  When  the 
name  of  our  eldest-born  is  inscribed  in  this  Bible, 
not  far  away  will  be  found  a  scene  in  the  home 
of  his  first  parents,  Georgiana  and  I  being  only 
the  last  of  these,  and  giving,  as  it  were,  merely 
the  finishing  Kentucky  touch  to  his  Jewish  origin. 

But  I  gambol  in  spirit  like  a  hawk  in  the  air. 
Let  me  hood  myself  with  parental  cares  :  I  have 
been  a  sire  for  half  a  day. 


115 


I  am  speechless  before  the  stupendous  wis 
dom  of  my  son  in  view  of  his  stupendous  igno 
rance.  Already  he  lectures  to  the  old  people 
about  the  house  on  the  perfect  conduct  of  life, 
and  the  only  preparation  that  he  requires  for 
his  lectures  is  a  few  drops  of  milk.  By  means 
of  these,  and  without  any  knowledge  of  anat 
omy,  he  will  show  us,  for  instance,  what  it  is 
to  be  master  of  the  science  of  vital  functions. 
When  he  regards  it  necessary  to  do  anything, 
he  does  it  instantly  and  perfectly,  and  the  world 
may  take  the  consequences  and  the  result.  He 
forthwith  addresses  himself  to  fresh  comfort 
and  new  enterprises  for  self-development.  Be 
yond  what  is  vital  he  refuses  to  go ;  things  that 
do  not  concern  him  he  lets  alone.  He  has  no 
cares  beyond  his  needs ;  all  space  to  him  is 
what  he  can  fill,  all  time  his  instant  of  action. 
He  does  not  know  where  he  came  from,  what  he 
is,  why  here,  whither  bound  ;  nor  does  he  ask. 

My  heart  aches  helplessly  for  him  when  he 


116 


shall  have  become  a  man  and  have  grown  less 
wise :  when  he  shall  find  it  necessary  to  act  for 
himself  and  shall  yet  be  troubled  by  what  his 
companions  may  think;  when  he  shall  no  longer 
live  within  the  fortress  of  the  vital,  but  take  up 
his  wandering  abode  with  the  husks  and  swine ; 
when  he  shall  no  longer  let  the  world  pass  by 
him  with  heed  only  as  there  is  need,  but  weary 
himself  to  better  the  unchangeable;  when  space 
shall  not  be  some  quiet  nook  of  the  world  large 
enough  for  the  cradle  of  his  life,  but  the  illim 
itable  void  filled  with  floating  spheres,  out  upon 
the  myriads  of  which,  with  his  poor,  puzzled  hu 
man  eyes,  he  will  pitifully  gaze ;  when  time  shall 
not  be  his  instant  of  action,  but  two  eternities, 
past  and  future,  along  the  baffling  walls  of  which 
he  will  lead  his  groping  faith ;  and  when  the  ques 
tioning  of  his  stoutest  years  shall  be:  Whence 
came  I  ?  And  what  am  I  ?  Why  here  for  a  little 
while  ?  Where  to  be  hereafter  ?  A  swimmer  is 
drowned  by  a  wave  originating  in  the  moon  ;  a 


117 

traveller  is  struck  down  by  a  bolt  originating  in 
a  cloud ;  a  workman  is  overcome  by  the  heat 
originating  in  the  sun  ;  and  so,  perhaps,  the  end 
will  come  to  him  through  his  solitary  struggle 
with  the  great  powers  of  the  universe  that  per 
petually  reach  him,  but  remain  forever  beyond 
his  reach.  If  I  could  put  forth  one  protecting 
prayer  that  would  cover  all  his  years,  it  would 
be  that  through  life  he  continue  as  wise  as  the 
day  he  was  born. 

The  third  of  June  once  more.  Rain  fell  all 
yesterday,  all  last  night.  This  morning  earth 
and  sky  are  dark  and  chill.  The  plants  are 
bowed  down,  and  no  wind  releases  them  from 
their  burden  of  large  white  drops.  About  the 
yard  the  red-rose  bushes  fall  away  from  the 
fences,  the  lilacs  stand  with  their  purple  clusters 
hanging  down  as  heavily  as  clusters  of  purple 
grapes.  I  hear  the  young  orioles  calling  drear 
ily  from  wet  nests  under  dripping  boughs.  A 


118 


plaintive  piping  of  lost  little   chickens  comes 
from  the  long  grass. 

How  unlike  the  day  is  to  the  third  of  June 
two  years  ago.  I  was  in  the  strawberry  bed 
that  crystalline  morning ;  Georgiana  came  to 
the  window,  and  I  beheld  her  for  the  first  time. 
How  unlike  the  same  day  one  year  back.  Again 
I  was  in  the  strawberry  bed,  again  Georgiana 
came  to  window  and  spoke  to  me  as  before. 
This  morning  as  I  tipped  into  her  room  where 
she  lay  in  bed,  she  turned  her  face  to  me  on 
the  pillow,  and  for  the  third  time  she  said, 
fondly  : 

"  Old  man,  are  you  the  gardener  ?" 
The  sky  being  so  blanketed  with  cloud,  al 
though  the  shutters  were  open  only  a  faint  gray 
light  filled  the  room.  It  was  the  first  day  that 
she  had  been  well  enough  to  have  it  done  ;  but 
now  the  bed  in  which  Georgiana  lay  was  spread 
with  the  most  beautiful  draperies  of  white  ;  the 
pillows  were  rich  with  needle -work  and  lace, 


119 


and  for  the  first  time  she  had  put  on  the  badge 
of  her  new  dignity,  a  little  white  cap  of  ribbons 
and  lace,  the  long  wide  streamers  of  which,  edged 
with  lace,  lay  out  upon  the  counterpane  like 
bands  of  the  most  delicate  frost.  The  fingers 
of  one  hand  rested  lightly  on  the  child  beside 
her,  as  though  she  were  counting  the  pulse  of  its 
oncoming  life.  Out  in  the  yard  the  lilies  of  the 
valley,  slipping  out  of  their  cool  sheaths  of 
green  leaves,  were  not  more  white,  more  fresh. 
And  surely  Georgiana's  gayety  is  the  uncon 
querable  gayety  of  the  world,  the  youthfulness 
of  youth  immortal. 

I  went  over  to  her  with  the  strange  new  awe 
I  feel  at  my  union  with  the  young  mother,  where 
hitherto  there  has  but  been  a  union  with  the 
woman  I  love.  She  stretched  out  her  hands  to 
me,  almost  hidden  under  the  lace  of  her  sleeves, 
and  drew  my  face  down  against  hers,  as  she  said 
in  my  ear, 

"  Now  you  are  the  old  Adam  !" 


120 

When  she  released  me,  she  bent  over  the  child 
and  added,  reproachfully, 

"  You  haven't  paid  the  least  attention  to  the 
baby  yet." 

"  I  haven't  noticed  that  the  baby  has  be 
stowed  the  least  attention  upon  me.  He  is  the 
youngest." 

"  He  is  the  guest  of  the  house  !  It  is  your 
duty  to  speak  to  him  first." 

"  He  doesn't  act  like  a  guest  in  my  house. 
He  behaves  as  though  he  owned  it.  I'm  no 
body  since  he  arrived — not  even  his  body-ser 
vant." 

Georgiana,  who  was  still  bending  over  the 
child,  glanced  up  with  a  look  of  confidential, 
whimsical  distress. 

"  How  could  anything  so  old  be  born  so 
young  !" 

"  He  will  look  younger  as  he  gets  older,"  I  re 
plied.  "And  he  will  not  be  the  first  bachelor 
to  do  that.  At  present  this  youngster  is  an  in- 


121 


valuable  human  document  in  too  large  an  en 
velope  :  that's  all." 

Georgiana,  with  a  swift,  protecting  movement, 
leaned  nearer  to  the  child,  and  spoke  to  him  : 

"  It's  your  house ;  tell  him  to  leave  the  room 
for  his  impertinence." 

"  He  may  have  the  house,  since  it's  his,"  I 
replied.  "  But  there  is  one  thing  I'll  not 
stand ;  if  he  ever  comes  between  me  and  you, 
he'll  have  to  go ;  I'll  present  him  to  Mrs.  Wal 
ters." 

I  was  not  aware  of  the  expression  with  which 
I  stood  looking  down  upon  my  son,  but  Georgi 
ana  must  have  noticed  it. 

"  And  what  if  he  supplants  me  some  day  ?" 
she  asked,  suddenly  serious,  and  with  an  old 
fear  reviving. 

"  Oh,  Georgiana  !"  I  cried,  kneeling   by  the 
bedside  and  putting  my  arms  around  her,  "  you 
know  that  as  long  as  we  are  in  this  world  I  am  . 
your  lover." 


122 


"No  longer?"  she  whispered,  drawing  me 
closer. 

"  Through  eternity  !" 

By-and-by  I  went  out  to  the  strawberry-bed. 
The  season  was  too  backward.  None  were  turn 
ing.  With  bitter  disappointment  I  searched  the 
cold,  wet  leaves,  bending  them  apart  for  the  sight 
of  as  much  as  one  scarlet  lobe,  that  I  might  take 
it  in  to  her  if  only  for  remembrance  of  the  day. 
At  last  I  gathered  a  few  perfect  leaves  and  blos 
soms,  and  presented  them  to  her  in  silence  on  a 
plate  with  a  waiter  and  napkin. 

She  rewarded  me  with  a  laugh,  and  lifted  from 
the  plate  a  spray  of  blossoms. 

"  They  will  be  ripe  by  the  time  I  am  well," 
she  said,  the  sunlight  of  memory  coming  out 
upon  her  face.  Then  having  touched  the  wet 
blossoms  with  her  finger-tips,  she  dropped  them 
quickly  back  into  the  plate. 

"  How  cold  they  are !"  she  said,  as  a  shiver 
ran  through  her.  At  the  same  time  she  looked 


123 


quickly    at    me,    her    eyes,    grown    dark    with 
dread. 

I  set  the  plate  hastily  down,  and  she  put  her 
hands  in  mine  to  warm  them. 


VII 

A  MONTH  has  gone  by  since  Georgiana  passed 
away. 

To-day,  for  the  first  time,  I  went  back  to 
the  woods.  It  was  pleasant  to  be  surrounded 
again  by  the  ever-living  earth  that  feels  no  loss 
and  has  no  memory ;  that  was  sere  yesterday,  is 
green  to-day,  will  be  sere  again  to-morrow,  then 
green  once  more ;  that  pauses  not  for  wounds 
and  wrecks,  nor  lingers  over  death  and  change ; 
but  onward,  ever  onward,  along  the  groove  of 
law,  passes  from  its  red  origin  in  universal 
flame  to  its  white  end  in  universal  snow, 

And  yet,  as  I  approached  the  edge  of  the  for 
est,  it  was  as  though  an  invisible  company  of 
influences  came  gently  forth  to  meet  me  and 
sought  to  draw  me  back  into  their  old  friend- 


125 

ship.  I  found  myself  stroking  the  trunks  of 
the  trees  as  I  would  throw  my  arm  around  the 
shoulders  of  a  tried  comrade ;  I  drew  down  the 
branches  and  plunged  my  face  into  the  new 
leaves  as  into  a  tonic  stream. 

Yesterday  a  wind  storm  swept  this  neighbor 
hood.  Later,  deep  in  the  woods,  I  came  upon 
an  elm  that  had  been  struck  by  a  bolt  at  the 
top.  Nearly  half  the  trunk  had  been  torn  away  ; 
and  one  huge  limb  lay  across  my  path. 

As  I  stood  looking  at  it,  the  single  note  of  a 
bird  fell  on  my  ear — always  the  same  note,  low, 
quiet,  regular,  devoid  of  feeling,  as  though  the 
bird  had  been  stunned  and  were  trying  to  say : 
What  can  I  do  ?  What  can  I  do  ?  What  can  I 
do? 

I  knew  what  that  note  meant.  It  was  the 
note  with  which  a  bird  now  and  then  lingers 
around  the  scene  of  the  central  tragedy  of  its 
life. 

After  a  long  search  I  found  the  nest,  crushed 


126 


against  the  ground  under  the  huge  limb,  and  a 
few  feet  from  it,  in  the  act  of  trying  to  escape, 
the  female.  The  male,  sitting  meantime  on  the 
end  of  a  bough  near  by,  watched  me  incuriously, 
and  with  no  change  in  that  quiet,  regular,  care 
less  note — he  knew  only  too  well  that  she  was 
past  my  harming.  The  plan  for  his  life  had 
reached  an  end  in  early  summer. 

I  sat  down  near  him  for  a  while,  thinking  of 
the  universal  tragedy  of  the  nest. 

It  was  the  second  time  to-day  that  this  di 
vine  wastage  in  nature  had  forced  itself  on  my 
thought,  and  this  morning  the  spectacle  was  on 
a  scale  of  tragic  greatness  beyond  anything  that 
has  ever  touched  human  life  in  this  part  of  the 
country :  Mr.  Clay  was  buried  amid  the  long  sad 
blare  of  music,  the  tolling  of  bells,  the  roll  of 
drums,  the  boom  of  cannon,  and  the  grief  of 
thousands  upon  thousands  upon  thousands  of 
people — a  vast  and  solemn  pageant,  yet  as  noth 
ing  to  the  multitude  that  will  attend  afar.  For 


127 


him  this  day  the  flags  of  nations  will  fly  at  half- 
mast  ;  and  the  truly  great  men  of  the  world, 
wherever  the  tidings  may  reach  them  of  his 
passing,  will  stand  awe  -  stricken  that  one  of 
their  superhuman  company,  has  been  too  soon 
withdrawn. 

Too  soon  withdrawn  !  Therein  is  the  tragedy 
of  the  nest,  the  wastage  of  the  divine,  the  law  of 
loss,  whose  reign  on  earth  is  unending,  but  whose 
right  to  reign  no  creature,  brute  or  human,  ever 
acknowledges. 

The  death  of  Mr.  Clay  is  one  of  the  many 
things  that  are  happening  to  change  all  that 
made  up  my  life  with  Georgiana.  She  was  a 
true  hero-worshipper,  and  she  worshipped  him. 
I  no  less.  Now  that  he  is  dead,  I  feel  as  much 
lonelier  as  a  soldier  feels  whose  chosen  tent- 
mate  and  whose  general  have  fallen  on  the  field 
together. 

As  I  turned  away  from  the  overcrowded  town 
this  afternoon  towards  the  woods  and  was  con- 


128 

fronted  by  the  wreck  of  the  storm,  my  thoughts 
being  yet  full  of  Mr.  Clay,  of  his  enemies  and 
disappointment,  there  rose  before  my  mind  a 
scene  such  as  Audubon  may  once  have  wit 
nessed  : 

The  light  of  day  is  dying  over  the  forests  of 
the  upper  Mississippi.  The  silence  of  high 
space  falls  upon  the  vast  stream.  On  a  thun 
der  -  blasted  tree  -  top  near  the  western  bank 
sits  a  lone,  stern  figure  waiting  for  its  lordliest 
prey — the  eagle  waiting  for  the  swan.  Long 
the  stillness  continues  among  the  rocks,  the 
tree  -  tops,  and  above  the  river.  But  far  away 
in  the  north  a  white  £hape  is  floating  near 
er.  At  last  it  comes  into  sight,  flying  heav 
ily,  for  it  is  already  weary,  being  already  wound 
ed.  The  next  moment  the  cry  of  its  coming 
is  heard  echoing  onward  and  downward  upon 
the  silent  woods.  Instantly  the  mighty  watcher 
on  the  summit  is  alert  and  tense ;  and  as  the 
great  snowy  image  of  the  swan  floats  by,  in  mid- 


129 


air  and  midway  of  the  broad  expanse  of  water, 
he  meets  it.  No  battle  is  fought  up  there — the 
two  are  not  well  matched ;  and  thus,  separated 
from  all  that  is  little  and  struggling  far  above 
all  that  is  low,  with  the  daylight  dying  on  his 
spotlessness,  the  swan  receives  the  blow  in  its 
heart. 

So  came  Death  to  the  great  Commoner. 

Oh,  Georgiana !  I  do  not  think  of  Death  as 
ever  having  come  to  you.  I  think  of  you  as 
some  strangely  beautiful  white  being  that  one 
day  rose  out  of  these  earthly  marshes  where 
hunts  the  dark  Fowler,  and  uttering  your  note  of 
divine  farewell,  spread  your  wings  towards  the 
open  sea  of  eternity,  there  to  await  my  coming. 


VIII 

IT  is  a  year  and  four  months  since  Georgiana 
left  me,  and  now  everything  goes  on  much  as  it 
did  before  she  came.  The  family  have  moved 
back  to  their  home  in  Henderson,  returning  like 
a  little  company  of  travellers  who  have  lost  their 
guide.  Sylvia  has  already  married  ;  her  broth 
er  writes  me  that  he  is  soon  to  be  ;  the  mother 
visits  me  and  my  child,  yearningly,  but  seldom, 
on  account  of  her  delicate  health ;  and  thus 
our  lives  grow  always  more  apart.  None  take 
their  places,  the  house  having  passed  to  people 
with  whom,  beyond  all  neighborly  civilities,  I 
have  naught  to  do.  Nowadays  as  I  stroll  around 
my  garden  with  my  little  boy  in  my  arms 
strange  faces  look  down  upon  us  out  of  Georgi- 
ana's  window. 


131 


And  I  have  long  since  gone  back  to  nature. 

When  the  harvest  has  been  gathered  from  our 
strong,  true  land,  a  growth  comes  on  which  late 
in  the  year  causes  the  earth  to  regain  somewhat 
of  its  old  greenness.  New  blades  spring  up  in 
the  stubble  of  the  wheat ;  the  beeless  clover  runs 
and  blossoms  ;  far  and  wide  over  the  meadows 
flows  the  tufted  billows  of  the  grass ;  and  in  the 
woods  the  oak-tree  drops  the  purple  and  brown 
of  his  leaf  and  mast  upon  the  verdure  of  June. 
Everywhere  a  second  spring  puts  forth  between 
summer  gone  and  winter  nearing.  It  is  the  over 
flow  of  plenty  beyond  the  filling  of  the  barns. 
It  is  a  wave  of  life  following  quickly  upon  the 
one  that  broke  bountifully  at  our  feet.  It  is  nat 
ure's  refusal  to  be  once  reaped  and  so  to  end. 

The  math  :  then  the  aftermath. 

Upon  the  Kentucky  landscape  during  these 
October  days  there  lies  this  later  youth  of  the 
year,  calm,  deep,  vigorous.  And  as  I  spend 
much  time  in  it  for  the  fine,  fresh  work  it  brings 


132 


to  hand  and  thought,  I  feel  that  in  my  way  I  am 
part  of  it,  that  I  can  match  the  aftermath  of 
nature  with  the  aftermath  of  my  life.  The  Har 
vester  passed  over  my  fields,  leaving  them  bare ; 
they  are  green  again  up  to  the  winter's  edge. 

The  thought  has  now  come  into  my  mind  that 
I  shall  lay  aside  these  pages  for  my  son  to  pon 
der  if  he  should  ever  grow  old  enough  to  value 
what  he  reads.  They  will  give  him  some  ac 
count  of  how  his  father  and  mother  met  in  the 
old  time,  of  their  courting  days,  of  their  happy 
life  together.  And  since  it  becomes  more  prob 
able  that  there  will  be  a  war,  and  that  I  might 
not  be  living  to  speak  to  him  of  his  mother  in 
ways  not  written  here,  I  shall  set  down  one 
thing  about  her  which  I  pray  he  may  take  well 
to  heart.  He  ought  to  know  and  to  remember 
this :  that  his  life  was  the  price  of  hers ;  she 
was  extinguished  that  he  might  shine,  and  he 
owes  it  to  her  that  the  flame  of  his  torch  be  as 
white  as  the  altar's  from  which  it  was  kindled. 


133 


Perhaps  the  most  remarkable  thing,  then,  in 
the  character  of  his  mother — which,  please  God, 
he  will  have,  or,  getting  all  things  else,  he  can 
never  be  a  gentleman — was  honor.  It  shone  from 
her  countenance,  it  ran  like  melody  in  her  voice, 
it  made  her  eyes  the  most  beautiful  in  expres 
sion  that  I  have  ever  seen,  it  enveloped  her  per 
son  and  demeanor  with  a  spiritual  grace.  Honor 
in  what  are  called  the  little  things  of  life,  honor 
not  as  women  commonly  understand  it,  but  as 
the  best  of  men  understand  it — that  his  mother 
had.  It  was  the  crystalline,  unshakable  rock 
upon  which  the  somewhat  fragile  and  never  to 
be  completed  structure  of  her  life  was  reared. 

If  he  be  anything  of  a  philosopher,  he  may 
reason  that  this  trait  must  have  made  his  mother 
too  serious  and  too  hard.  Let  him  think  again. 
It  was  the  very  core  of  soundness  in  her  that 
kept  her  gay  and  sweet.  I  have  often  likened 
her  mind  to  the  sky  in  its  power  of  change- 
ableness  from  radiant  joyousness  to  sober  calm ; 


134 


but  oftenest  it  was  like  the  vault  of  April,  whose 
drops  quicken  what  they  fall  upon  ;  and  she  was 
of  a  soft-heartedness  that  ruled  her  absolutely — 
but  only  to  the  unyielding  edge  of  honor.  Yet 
she  did  not  escape  this  charge  of  being  both 
hard  and  serious  upon  the  part  of  men  and 
women  who  were  used  to  the  laxness  of  small 
misdemeanors,  and  felt  ill  at  ease  before  the 
terrifying  truth  that  she  was  a  lady. 

Beyond  this  single  trait  of  hers — which,  if  it 
please  God  that  he  inherit  it,  may  he  keep  though 
he  lose  everything  else — I  set  nothing  further 
down  for  his  remembrance,  since  .naught  could 
come  of  my  writing.  By  words  I  could  no 
more  give  him  an  idea  of  what  his  mother  was 
than  I  could  point  him  to  a  few  measures  of 
wheat  and  bid  him  behold  a  living  harvest. 

Upon  these  fields  of  cool  October  greenness 
there  rises  out  of  the  earth  a  low,  sturdy  weed. 
Upon  the  top  of  this  weed  small  white  blossoms 


135 

open  as  still  as  stars  of  frost.  Upon  these 
blossoms  lies  a  fragrance  so  pure  and  whole 
some  that  the  searching  sense  is  never  cloyed, 
never  satisfied.  Years  after  the  blossoms  are 
dried  and  yellow  and  the  leaves  withered  and 
gone,  this  wholesome  fragrance  lasts.  The  com 
mon  people,  who  often  put  their  hopes  into  their 
names,  call  it  life-everlasting.  Sometimes  they 
make  themselves  pillows  of  it  for  its  virtue  of 
bringing  a  quiet  sleep. 

This  plant  is  blooming  out  now,  and  nightly 
as  I  wend  homeward  I  pluck  a  handful  of  it, 
gathering  along  with  its  life  the  tranquil  sun 
shine,  the  autumnal  notes  of  the  cardinal  passing 
to  better  lands,  and  all  the  healthful  influences 
of  the  fields.  I  shall  make  me  a  tribute  of  it  to 
the  memory  of  her  undying  sweetness. 

If  God  wills,  when  I  fall  asleep  for  good  I  shall 
lay  my  head  beside  hers  on  tjie  bosom  of  the  Life 
Everlasting. 

THE    END 


BY  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN 


AFTERMATH.      Part  Second  of  "A  Kentucky  Car 
dinal."     Square  32mo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $i  oo. 

How  sweet  and  clean  and  healthy  such  a  story  as  "  Af, 
termath."  ...  It  is  delightful  reading. — A7".  Y.  Press. 

A  KENTUCKY  CARDINAL.    Illustrated  by  ALBERT 
E.  STERNER.     Square  32ino,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  oo. 

Mr.  James  Lane  Allen  has  never  shown  more  delicacy 
and  refinement  of  feeling  or  a  more  sympathetic  apprecia 
tion  of  the  beauties  of  nature. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 


THE  BLUE -GRASS  REGION  OF  KENTUCKY, 
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